


Smorgasboard

by Blueismybusiness



Category: Shall We Date?: Obey Me!
Genre: Asshole demons, Belphie is a little shit, Denial of Feelings, Escape Attempts, F/M, Fluffiness is happening, I love Asmo, I swear, Insults, Kidnapping, Levi is a masochist, Masturbation, Non-Consensual Voyeurism, Really? - Freeform, Sexual Assault, Sexual Tension, Thirsting, Traumatized MC, aren't all the brothers, dobcon/noncon rollplay, don't hate me, mammon tries so hard, mc doesn't have anymore fucks to give, mc has had it, mc is too human for her own good, sort of canon, tw: physical assault
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-08
Updated: 2021-02-21
Packaged: 2021-03-02 23:34:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 53,684
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24065143
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blueismybusiness/pseuds/Blueismybusiness
Summary: You wake up in in a strange place, surrounded by very hot, strange men, and you're told you have to live with them for the next year.Here's to surviving.It has been brought to my attention a few times that I keep screwing up the birth order. So, I will try and catch myself, but if an error happens to slip through, let’s just pretend I’m not a dumbass and sub the right number in our heads. LOL Thank you.
Relationships: Asmodeus (Shall We Date?: Obey Me!)/Reader, Beelzebub (Shall We Date?: Obey Me!)/Reader, Belphegor (Shall We Date?: Obey Me!)/Reader, Leviathan (Shall We Date?: Obey Me!)/Reader, Lucifer (Shall We Date?: Obey Me!)/Reader, Mammon (Shall We Date?: Obey Me!)/Reader, Satan (Shall We Date?: Obey Me!)/Reader
Comments: 237
Kudos: 533





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Hello!!
> 
> I tried ignoring the ads for this game for months. I failed. Now here I am.
> 
> So, the purpose of this story is so that I can live out my fantasy of being railed by seven hot guys...maybe eight if Diovolo is lucky. However, don't go in expecting straight porn, I don't do that. I need story, plot, a reason! So settle in bitches, cause we're going long. 
> 
> Notes to remember:
> 
> \- This isn't straight canon. I mean, I will follow it some, but like, the tasks make no sense in this fic so I'm skipping them.  
> \- Please remember these are demons, I have no intention of making them as soft as they are in the game.  
> \- I will adjust tags as I go, but don't expect situations like non-con or gore.  
> \- I do plan to write a lot of sex, so prepare yourself.
> 
> One last thing, I think it's important to warn you I am an inconsistent updater. I won't promise you quick updates or even regular ones. I will finish the story, it just might take a while. I have a job and kids, so, not a lot of personal time and I have other wips in different fandoms. Please be patient with me.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So it appears that when I posted the first chapter, the site somehow posted it before the prologue, which I hope wasn't confusing for people. I think I fixed it. The prologue should show up as the first chapter and chapter 1 should show up as the second, and so forth. So if something similar happens in the future and it looks like I didn't catch it, feel free to send me a message alerting me. 
> 
> *Sigh* People probably saw the mistake, confusing it for the real order and was just like, "Eww...no way!".

“Ohhh.”

The small sound is punched from you, a verbal reflection of the effort it’s taking to force your heavy eyelids open. 

Did-did you drink last night? You honestly can’t remember, you’re having difficulty pulling together thoughts that don’t start with “O” and end in “HHHH”. You feel...drugged, like you do the mornings after a night out with the girls. 

You’re on your back, but you attempt to roll onto your side, and it isn’t just your eyelids that weigh an unusual amount. Your bones feel like lead, the weight of them almost too much to move, and you're tempted to give into the sleepiness that beckons you back to darkness.

_“How much did they give her?”_

Your struggles take a pause, the sound of voices— _unfamiliar male voices_ —washing away the drugged feeling like being doused in a tub of ice water. You snap into a sitting position, your hands rushing to your aching head, but they slowly fall to the side as the environment around you begins to take shape.

You’re sitting in the middle of a large room on some kind of settee, covered in a deep, red velvet. There is a very large, very antique looking dinner table a few feet from you and beyond that a dais with seven seats, the middle one looking like a judge’s podium. In fact, the whole room resembles a courtroom...sort of. There is a dining table in it, so the purpose isn’t exactly clear, but that’s neither here nor there.

You try to shake your head of nonsensical thoughts, but your brain is still a little foggy.

Someone clears their throat, “Welcome to the Devildom, [N].”

You blink and realize you weren’t just hallucinating; that there are, in fact, _five_ strange men standing to your left and staring at you.

“I know you must be a tad confused, but rest assured, all will be explained. However first, allow me to introduce myself.” 

All of these men are abnormally attractive, as in unnaturally so, and all of them are dressed like Nazis. Well, except for one who is dressed in a red coat with midnight black slacks. This strange, yet incredibly attractive, man steps closer, and with a slight bow he says, “My name is Diavolo, the founder of this School, The Royal Academy of Diavolo, and soon to be crowned the future King of Devildom.”

He smiles at you, it’s soft and welcoming, but all you can do is stare. Holding up one hand, you try clearing your throat, wincing from the headache, and say, “I’m sorry, what? Devildom? Royal Academy?” The name sounds vaguely familiar, but with the head ache and the confusion, you can’t place it.

He nods, “Yes, Devildom, or what you humans might call Hell. Well, a suburb, so to speak.”

“...Hell…” you raise an eyebrow at him and snort. This has to be a dream. The weirdest fucking dream you’ve ever had, but still a dream. “Right, sure.” You attempt to stand, your legs are slightly wobbly, but you manage not to face plant on the expensive carpet. 

Your subconscious really pulled out all the stops in detail.

“Well,” you say with a clap of your hands, “Mr. Satan, sir, this has been...weird, but I think I’m gonna head on out. Thanks, though, for…” you wave a hand vaguely in front of you and wince at the pain in your temple, “This.”

The five men, including the Diavolo guy, look back at one of the other men, a really pretty blonde. All of them have wide eyes and surprised expressions.

“What-um...okay, you’re welcome?” The blonde says, obviously confused.

Diavolo’s eyebrows crease in thought, then he turns back to you. “[N], wait, I think there has been a misunderstanding.”

“Sure,” you say. “Now where’s they exit? Or better yet…” You start pinching yourself, trying to wake your body from this mushroom trip from hell.

Haha...pun not intended.

“[N], we are currently standing in the assembly hall of the Academy, which we fondly refer to as Rad…”

“Yeah, uh huh,” you reply absently, still trying to wake yourself up.

“This is where we, the student council, hold meeting and manage student affairs.”

“Yep, cool cool.”

You don’t notice the confused looks and growing frustration passing between the men. Then another of the beauties steps forward, this one with hair as dark as ink and eyes that seem to hold the mysteries of the universe. You freeze when you lock gazes, feeling like this man is somehow staring into your soul. You shiver.

“My name is Lucifer. I am the eldest brother of the seven demon lords of Devildom and the avatar of Pride. I am also the Vice President of the Student Body. We welcome you.”

You don’t reply, your tongue having lost its ability to make words. You just stare up into his flawless face, your brain completely empty of any response.

Diavolo smiles at Lucifer with affection and says to you, “He is also my right-hand man as well as my most trusted friend.”

“[N],” Lucifer continues, blushing from the compliment (and really, no one should look that pretty while blushing), “You have been chosen as an ambassador from the human realm to fulfill the desire of Diavolo; to create a world where demons, humans, and angels coexist. As such, an exchange program has been instituted. We have sent two of our very own to your world and two to the Celestial Realm, and we have accepted four students here—two from the human world and two from the Celestial Realm. ”

“Wha-“ you mumble.

“You will serve a year here in Devildom, and in that time you will learn from us as we will from you in the hopes of finding a common ground between your world and ours.

“You will attend school at RAD, and at the end of the year you will submit an essay of your findings. It is important that you build relationships while here, within reason, of course. You are a human, and thus, your kind have been food before, so it is important that you be on constant guard as many of our brethren will not hesitate to make a meal of you. Am I clear?”

You finally shake free of your daze, blinking and looking around and at each of the men watching you, some with interest, some with boredom, and one in particular, like you could easily become one of those meals Lucifer was talking about.

You shake your head, slowly at first as your pulse rockets and your heart rate rises to dangerous levels. “No,” you say. “No, this is imposs-this is a fucking dream. It’s a dream.” You keep repeating that last part as you look closer at the room you're in while you pinch your arm, nearly breaking skin in your rising panic.

“I am afraid it is not a dream,” Diavolo says.

You’re starting to pant now, breaths coming hot and heavy as you panic. Your head is clearing and you remember. 

You _remember_.

You received a letter in the mail, an acceptance letter to a school you never applied to. You graduated university last year with no plans to continue, so you thought it odd at the time that you would receive a strange letter. Out of curiosity you opened it, the stationary easily the most expensive paper you’ve ever held in your hand, the written script flowing across the paper like water. It was beautiful but had to be a joke, and you spent the better part of an hour Googling the name of the school to no avail.

There was nothing.

It had to be a prank.

So you’d set the letter aside and thought nothing more about it. That night was routine as any, and you went to bed, comforted by the normal that was your world. Your life.

Until that normal was no more and you awoke in a strange place, surrounded by strange men claiming to be demons.

No.

Just, no.

This isn’t happening.

This isn’t real.

Your eyes catch on an open door, and without a second thought you take off for it, running as if the devil himself was on your heels. Which wasn’t just paranoia screaming at you. You hear one of them as you pass through the door, “Beel, please.”

You burst from the corridor and into a large hall. It appears to be the main hall because a set of large doors are at the opposite end, so you dig in the heels of your bare feet and run for all your worth. There is a buzzing coming from behind you, the sound of a thousand flies filling the hall and getting closer with every step you take, and amazingly you're able to push yourself a little harder.

Somewhere in the back of your mind you’re questioning the engineering of having a hall so large with a door so goddamned far away.

You make it, though, your fingers brushing the ornate knob, but before you can wrap them fully around the handle and pull, your yanked back. The sound of flies fill your ears and you're turned roughly. You slam yourself backwards as you’re faced with a terrifying sight; one of the men, the one whose eyes devoured you as if you were a steak waiting to be consumed, hovers before you by the power of large, grey fly’s wings. The air coming from them buffets your clothes and hair, but you can do little to keep your face free of the strands as you stare at the man-now-demon. He is still humanoid, his face still unnaturally beautiful, but horns now stick out from his head of cooper-colored hair, curling up the sides of his face. His eyes are bottomless black, and you can see a hint of fang peeking past his plush lips. He’s dressed like a biker, wrapped all in leather and studded belts, complete with boots. There is a flash of tattoos sticking out of his low cut, black wife beater and climbing up the sides of his neck. You have this asinine thought that he’s just your type, except for the terrifying demon presence and the fact you’re absolutely sure you’re about to be eaten alive.

He lands just outside of your personal bubble, the silence that follows the quieting of his wings is almost deafening in itself. He’s fucking _huge_ . It hurts your neck as you bend your head to look up at him, and his shoulders are so... _broad_. And that stupid tank top does nothing to hide the beefy tiddies...

_Not the time to think of sex._

The demon leans over you, one hand in his pocket and the other supporting his weight on his forearm which he places right above your head. Right before your eyes he...shifts, the wings shrinking and disappearing and his appearance softening overall. Even his clothes change back into his uniform. 

“Uh so,” he begins, “Sorry about that, you’re pretty fast for a human. But look, the sooner we get this over with, the sooner I can eat, alright?”

You swallow hard, your knees shaking. _The sooner he can eat…_

You don’t have time to respond or react before you find yourself in the air. You land none too softly over his shoulder, the wind knocked out of you. You hang limply for a second, gasping for oxygen, and trying to make sense of what the hell just happened. Beneath you, the demon turns and heads back in the direction you came from, and you watch your means of escape grow farther away. 

By the time the demon makes it back to the assembly hall with you, you’re livid. All your fear replaced with righteous anger, both at being carried like a sack of potatoes and at having been kidnapped from your home. You’re kicking and hitting at the demon, trying to land a blow anywhere you can, not that it helps since he acts like nothing is happening. He doesn’t lose stride or even say anything, just keeps walking like your no more than a human blanket.

“Put me down you brute, you shithead! Put me down! Now! I know you hear me, you piece of shit! Let me go! Fuck you! Fuck you!”

You learn real quick there is no such thing as dignity in traumatic situations. He enters the room with you still kicking up a fuss, and dumps you back on the settee. You squeal as you go ass over end, landing in a heap of your own arms and legs with a huff of air. You scramble to right yourself, panting and cursing up a storm, unconcerned about decorum because, uh, this is hell and you’re sure they’ve heard worse. 

You glare at the men assembled, still standing where you abruptly left them, and they stare back with various expressions of amusement and exasperation. 

Lucifer clears his throat, “Well now. Since you’ve returned, how about we continue.”

“Fuck you, asshole,” you growl.

A few of the demons glance, wide-eyed at Lucifer who’s eye twitches. However, he chooses to ignore your outburst.

“Yes, well,” Lucifer replies, “Moving on. As I said, it is not entirely safe for you, a powerless human, to roam Devildom. So, in order to keep you safe for the next year you will reside with my brothers and myself in our dorm, the House of Lamentation. Also, I have tasked Mammon to watch over you, to be your guard, so to speak. Not that he appreciates the importance of this responsibility.”

Lucifer walks over to the dining table and swipes an item from its surface. He walks over to you, and you balk at him, leaning away as he attempts to hand you a...phone? You look at him, look at the cell phone, and look back at him, completely bewildered. He sort of shakes it at you, indicating for you to take it, and because this whole situation is surreal and you don’t really know what else to do, you gingerly grasp at the sleek cell.

“That is a D.D.D., much like the cell phones of your world and is yours to use for the entirety of your stay.” Lucifer gestures at you. “Please try calling Mammon.”

Your gaze drops from the demon to the phone in your hand. You just...can’t wrap your head around this whole, _bizarre_ situation. 

Lucifer clears his throat and nods at you. You sigh in resignation, what else is there to do?

You turn the phone this way and that, trying to get an idea of how it works. Much like your own phone it appears to have volume buttons on one side and a power button on the other. You push the power button hoping it acts just like the lock screen of your own phone, and lo and behold your luck. The screen lights up and you swipe at it. There isn’t a password so it opens to the home screen right away. That is something you plan to change immediately.

The screen is set up way differently than your own with lots of pastel colors like pink and blue and purples; it completely clashes with the black steel of the phone cover and the overall atmosphere of the place you’re in, and you snort in amusement. You don’t have time to explore its apps and programs, so you quickly navigate to the contacts app and open it up. There is a whole list of names you don’t recognize and three you do. You assume that the rest must be other demons you are meant to stay in contact with. Ignoring those, you find Mammon’s name and press it, watching as the screen fades and relights, the call screen appearing. 

“Yo,” comes a voice from the other end when the ringing stops. For a second you are speechless. What are you expected to say?

You look at Lucifer who just watches you expectantly. Your eyes shift to the other men and they’re no better. You sigh.

“Yo,” you reply.

“Uh who the hell is this?” Mammon asks.

“Um...it’s, um [N], the human you’re supposed to watch over. I guess.”

“Wha-I don’t have time for tha- Oh wait! Yer _that_ human. The one my brother is forcin’ me to babysit. Well listen here, pathetic human. I ain’t got time to babysit your pathetic ass-”

“Lucifer asked for you,” You say, interrupting his tirade.

“What? So! You think I give a rat’s ass just because you used _his_ name? Fuck you! Tell that dick brother of mine to go fuck-”

Lucifer glares at you, well at the phone you’re holding, then snatches it up. “You have ten seconds to get here,” he growls into the speaker and you can hear Mammon squeak in fright.

“Yes sir, right away.” 

With that, Lucifer hangs up and hands the phone back to you. “Well, that went better than expected.”

“Oh yes,” you say, voice deadpanned, “He sounds delightful. A real winner. Totally responsible.”

There are few snorts coming from the group, but mostly it’s silent. Lucifer tilts his head at you.

“You think so?” He asks, as if your sarcasm slipped right over him. You open your mouth to explain how much of a dumbass he is, but Diavolo steps in. Perhaps on purpose to keep things from escalating.

He doesn’t know you too well.

“I understand how upset you must feel having been taken from your home. But please, be assured this is all for a good reason, and Mammon isn’t the only one who will take care of you.”

So, you have to admit to yourself that it’s kinda hard to stay mad at Diavolo, he’s just too fucking... _sweet_. Yes, he’s a demon, but his eyes seem so sincere and his smile is so warm and welcoming. You find yourself melting a little, so you decide to keep your mouth shut. For now.

“This is probably the part where we should introduce the rest of your brothers, isn’t it, Lucifer?” Diavolo says, turning to his friend with an encouraging smile. 

The way these so-called demons act is throwing you for a loop. This is not what you expected after all those Sunday school lessons. 

“Of course,” Lucifer answers Diavolo, then turns to you, gesturing to the side. “Allow me to introduce the rest of the Lords of Devildom, unfortunately.”

“So mean, Luci,” one of the demons, a slender beauty with silky auburn locks, steps forward. He grins at Lucifer who rolls his eyes, then this demon bows before you. He grabs your hand and places a gentle kiss to your knuckles.

“I am called Asmodeus, the Avatar of Lust and fifth oldest.” He looks up at you through long, thick dark lashes, and you don’t catch the hitch of your breath before it happens. Heat rolls down your body from your head to your toes, and you look away with a blush.

“Well well,” he says, his voice dropping in tone and so quiet, “Aren’t you just a snack.”

“Don’t be a creep, Asmo,” another growls, the pretty blonde from earlier, who steps up to you, shoving at Asmodeus’ face.”

“Hey, ow! You’re so rude, Satan!”

“Ignore him,” Satan says to you with a bow. He doesn’t kiss your hand, thankfully. “My name is Satan, and I am the Avatar of Wrath and fourth oldest. Also, be careful of this one,” he points to Asmodeus, “His talent is mind control. Stare into his eyes long enough and he can make you do anything he wants.”

“Aww, Satan, why do you have to give away my secrets? Besides, I’m harmless, and all I do is in the name of pleasure.” Asmodeus looks at you, his smile breathtaking. It draws you in and you find yourself looking up into his eyes. “You would like that, right, [N]? A little pleasure?”

Lucifer coughs, snapping you out of the trance you were quickly falling into. You blink and shake your head, and Asmodeus chuckles, his big, peach colored eyes taking on a slightly predatory light.

“What the fuck?!” You yell at him, though he only continues to smirk at you. “Fucking pervert!”

Asmodeus shrugs, grinning, and walks off to join his brothers.

“Humans are so weak, I told you not to look into his eyes.”

You glare at Satan, not appreciating the I-told-you-so lecture, then you flip him off. He snorts and rolls his eyes.

“You would do well to watch yourself around this one, too,” Lucifer adds, thumbing in Satan’s direction. “He _is_ the Avatar of Wrath, and while he may act mature, his temper often gets the best of him and he can be petty. So beware of his fake smiles, they’re not always what they seem.”

“Really,” Satan replies to his brother, the smile on his face evidence of Lucifer’s words. The air in the room gets momentarily colder. “It’s like that is it?”

Lucifer rolls his eyes. “Are you done yet?”

The atmosphere eases and Satan smiles at Lucifer and it’s full of snark. Then he walks back to his brothers. 

The last to introduce himself is the big guy who carried you back from your escapee like some brutish caveman. He steps forward and frowns at you, then turns to Lucifer.

“I’m hungry.”

You suck in a sharp breath, afraid you’ll be handed over to sate his appetite.

Lucifer glares at the taller brother, “Beel, behave.”

Said man stares down at the floor, his lip wobbling. Despite your earlier confrontation, you can’t help but think he’s kind of like an...adorable demon teddy bear.

Lucifer sighs and says, “This one is Beelzebub, the Avatar of Gluttony and the sixth oldest. He _is_ mostly harmless unless you get in the way of his next meal.”

Beelzebub glances up at you with a slight upward tilt of the corner of his lips. Then he slinks back to his brothers.

At that moment, someone barrels into the room, stopping beside Lucifer, bent in half and gasping for air.

“I’m here.”

“That was more than ten seconds,” Lucifer states.

The other man, obviously Mammon, straightens you, swallowing nervously. “S-so! I was busy and you inter...rup..ted…”

Mammon shuts his mouth with a crack of teeth under the irritable glare of Lucifer. He turns to you, tilting his head toward the newcomer, and tells you, “This is Mammon, the Avatar of Greed and third oldest. He’s a worthless waste of space, so be on your toes around him.”

“Oi! Why are you being mean?!”

Mammon sneers at Lucifer, then looks at you, eyes the color of deep sapphire obviously checking you out.

“This her?” He says, looking to his other brothers who give him various acknowledgements. 

“ _Tch_ ,” Mammon replies, looking back at you, “Not very impressive. What, Diavolo? Couldn’t afford the cream so you scrape the bottom of the barrel?”

“Excuse me?!” You demand, offended. You stand to your full height, all five foot, five inches, and cross your arms over your chest. “For your information, dickface, I don’t want to be here as much as you don’t want to guard me. So fuck off with your insults, you’re not that special.”

“Plucky, ain’t she?” Mammon says to his brothers. “Okay, listen up, slut,” he says to you, which earns him a gasp of offense. You stalk up to him and raise your hand, but he catches it with no effort at all, gripping your wrist tightly. “ _As I was saying_ , you pathetic worm, you’ll do as I say. I don’t have time to deal with human stupidity, and as long as I’m stuck on worm-sitting duty, you’ll mind your manners. Capiche? I’m important here, and you’ll treat me with the respect I’m due if you want to stay alive. Otherwise I might find myself forgetting you in a less amicable neighborhood.”

You glare at him, he glares back at you.

“Alright, enough,” Lucifer says, interrupting your standoff. 

You try to yank your wrist back, but Mammon holds it like you're no more than a child throwing a tantrum, and he smirks down at you. You hate him. He eventually releases you, and you put space between the two of you while rubbing at your sore arm.

“You have now met most of us,” Lucifer says, glaring at you and Mammon. “There are two more, but they aren’t here now, but I suppose you can just meet them later.”

“And during your stay, the Seven Lords will keep you safe. You’ll stay with them in the House of Lamentation,” Diavolo continues.

You look at him, the one being in the room you sort of, kind of trust, and your expression must give away your confusion because Asmodeus answers, “HoL is the dorm of dorms, the greatest house on campus, and perhaps all of Devildom with the exception of Diovolo’s castle.”

Oh hooray, you get to live with these asswipes.

“Yes,” Lucifer says, not really agreeing with Asmodeus, but more trying to stay on topic, “But I feel it important to reiterate the importance of never straying by yourself. The danger to your life, while here, is very real. I will do everything in my power to make sure you survive, so please, be careful.”

You gulp.

“I…” you croak, and all eyes bore into you. You look down, flushing from embarrassment because heat is building behind your eyes. The reality of your situation is sinking in, and while you’re still angry, you’re also terrified. “I just want to go home,” you whisper as the first tear escapes and falls to the floor.

“I _am_ sorry, my dear,” Diovolo apologizes, “I can’t imagine how all this might seem to you. But I promise, you _will_ go home in one year’s time. You have my word.”

The word of a demon, you think to your yourself as more tears slip free, now steadily falling to your feet.

You feel a hand on your shoulder and look up to find yourself staring into Diovolo’s eyes. “Again, [N], on behalf of all Devildom, welcome.”

The sentiment rings hollow, but what can you do?

 _Well_ , you think, _here’s to surviving the next year._ ”


	2. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You get settled in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so I know I told you not to expect anything last time, and I swear I'm telling the truth. This is a fluke, don't count on a chapter 2 for a while. I mean it. Don't get your hopes up. When it comes to me, it's better to prepare for the worst. I may update again in a couple months, just saying. Don't be surprised. 
> 
> Anyway, hope you like the new chapter.

It’s late at night as you follow Mammon through campus to the house you’ll be residing in.

Or more like held captive in, but semantics.

You’re not totally paying attention to where you’re going, your eyes locked on your shoes as you drag one foot in front of the other like a zombie or a person walking Death Row.

“Stop yer blubberin’, Jesus.”

You don’t have the energy to snap back at Mammon or comment on the irony of his statement, so you just scrub at your red, swollen eyes and tear stained cheeks in silence, tracking the back of his expensively heeled feet so you don’t get lost in the darkness.

“Well, here we are.”

His feet stop, so you do too, looking up to find yourself before an ornate, wrought iron gate connected to a high stone wall that surrounds the biggest house you’ve ever seen. Too bad you’re too depressed to care, so you just shrug, looking forlornly at the grounds around the house you can see through the gate.

“Seriously? Some would kill to live here, just so you know. Geez, spoiled much?”

“Can we just get this over with,” you reply, tone flat.

Mammon snorts and rolls his eyes. “I can tell yer gonna be a blast. Of all the humans we could have, Diavolo agreed to you.”

You just stare at him, expression as bland as your tone when you speak.

“You know what I think?” He asks, and thankfully it was rhetorical, because you think you might have tried to impale yourself on one of the iron spikes on the gate if he’d have forced you into any more conversation. “I think the computer was glitched. Yer just a mistake and Diavolo will figure it out soon enough and send yer plain ass back. Maybe then I could talk’m into bringin’ in someone more...appealing.” He says this after looking you up and down in a way that spoke utter disappointment.

You sigh,” Whatever.” All patience gone, you stalk by him, pushing through the gate, stomping across the stone path and up the wide steps to the front porch.

Mammon runs after you complaining, “Hey, worm! Don’t ignore me! Don’t you know who I am?! Little bitch!”

You reach the door and open it, stepping inside and blinking in the bright light after walking in the dark for what felt like forever. Once your eyesight manages to adjust, you look around, curious despite yourself. Surprisingly there is a lack of upside down crosses and pentagons decorating the place. Unsurprisingly it’s so Victorian it’s like you stepped back through the pages of human history. The interior is a blend of white washing and bold, contrasting colors, ornate molding, heavy drapes, and even heavier furniture. It was actually cozy. You wanted to burn it to the ground.

You jerk forward, staggering before you catch yourself. You straighten, looking back over your shoulder to glare at the asshole who pushed you. Mammon just sneers at you.

“What did I say about respect?”

“You want respect, then give it,” you reply with only half the vitriol you actually felt.

Mammon rushes forward, leering, his face dark with wrath. “Come again, human shit?”

“What’s your fucking problem, dude?” You snap, finally having enough of his shitty attitude. You didn’t want to be here. He obviously didn’t want you here. But it’s not like you were given a goddamned choice, so why make you miserable?

“My problem is little uppity humans who don’t know their place,” he growls back. The air around him crackles with tension and you feel like maybe something is about to happen. Unfortunately, knowing when to stop, especially when emotionally exhausted and scared beyond imagination, has never been in your toolbox of coping skills. 

You lean into him, refusing to be cowed by some self-important man-demon-child with an inflated ego. “Pot meet kettle! You could give Pride a run for his money when it comes to arrogance. So fuck you and the high horse you sit on. If you don’t like me so much, send me the fuck home!”

Mammon blinks at you for a moment, eyes a bit wide and face flushed from anger or embarrassment, frankly you don’t care, but he leans back, moving out of your space. His expression goes contemplative as he continues to stare at you. 

Mammon’s sassy mouth was much easier to deal with, unlike this...whatever it is sitting in his eyes, and you fidget under his appraising gaze, eyes dropping to the side.

A shrug of narrow shoulders drags your attention back to him, all of the tension from moments before evaporating like water in a desert.

“I can’t send you back, so it’s whatever.”

The sudden change in attitude almost gives you whiplash, and you are at your limit, ready a long ass time ago to disembark from this emotional rollercoaster. You sigh and shake your head, crossing your arms over your chest in a protective manner rather than irritation.

“Whatever.”

“Anyway,” Mammon says, ignoring your comment, “This is the House of Lamentation. Yer room is down the hall, fourth door on the right, just pas’ the kitchen. The second floor’s reserved for us brothers, so _stay away._ ”

You think the warning is a bit unnecessary seeing as though you have little intention of engaging with these freaks for as long as you're stuck in this gothic hell hole, let alone scurrying up to their bedrooms like some predator. Really, what does he think you’re capable of doing against _seven demons_.

“Mammon! Where is my money!”

Your head snaps up to find a lanky demon descending the stairs. He’s got a head full of lavender colored hair, and he’s dressed in a long, black shawl jacket, a turtleneck, and track pants. Around his neck is a set of bulky headphones. He barely glances at you.

“You piece of utter shit! You worthless, filthy scumbag! You waste of air-“

“For fuck’s sake, Levi, cool it! I’m your older brother, show some respect!”

“You don’t deserve respect! You deserve to die one thousand deaths and to burn in the center fires of Hell!”

You look between them, balling at the statement. Were you all not already in Hell?

Mammon gasps. “You’re so harsh!”

“Where is my money, asshole?! I’ve been asking you for two hundred years and for two hundred years you have been blowing me off! I need that cash to buy tickets to an exclusive event!”

“It’s more like two hundred and sixty years, get it right.”

“Mammon!”

“Hey have you met our new pet human?”

“Excuse me,” you demand, having gotten lost in the drama between the two brothers. Secretly you agree with everything the new guy said. And you don’t appreciate being referred to as a human _pet_.

Mammon just rolls his eyes. “This is, [N], and she’ll be staying with us. So mind your manners.”

You snort are the contradiction in his command. Levi—or whatever his name is—looks you over and grimaces.

“So I’m to share my home with some human normie. Gross.”

You roll your eyes.

Mammon snorts. “This is Leviathan, Avatar of Envy, blah blah blah, third oldest, blah blah blah,” Mammon says, stuffing his hands in his pockets, looking utterly bored.

Levi sneers at him. “My money, you piece of scum.”

Mammon glares at him, but then his eyes brighten with wicked glee, and you all of a sudden worry for your safety.

“Hey Levi, you’re an otaku loser. She’s human. Bet she knows Ruri.”

Leviathan’s eyes almost glow with excitement as they light on you, and you shrink back. You did, in fact, know Ruri Hana, but something about the maniacal shine in Leviathan’s gaze makes you wary.

“I do…” you hesitantly offer.

A literal flood of useless anime information is thrown at you, stuff about Ruri you think the writers probably didn’t even know themselves. You weren’t lying, you did know the anime, but just as far as watching a few episodes went. It wasn’t your favorite genre, so you didn’t really pursue the series. Now you’re learning everything about it in minute detail. 

He was in the middle of an exposition about the second season, episode four specifically, when he suddenly stopped and looked around.

“Seriously?! That asswipe totally sacrificed you so he could slink out like the snake he is!” Levi turned back to you. “Mammon is a lowlife, you should have been paying closer attention. I swear, humans are so…”

You are seriously getting tired of the insults. For a minute there you almost convinced yourself you felt normal. Leviathan rattled on about things that are so mundane in your life, it made him seem sweet, like a little brother or something, and the warmth of feeling like your life wasn’t so out of control squeezed your heart and heat rose behind your eyes yet again. Then Leviathan has to go and ruin it by being a dick, flapping his gums about _humans this_ and _humans that_ . For fuck’s sake, how does it not seem to compute with these losers that it was _them_ who decided to bring you here? For a bunch of people wanting to improve relations, they were not setting a good impression.

Perhaps this is something to be brought up with Diavolo?

Not that you actually care about his pet project.

You impatiently rap your foot waiting for Leviathan to continue his impending offensive statement, but his gaze is currently faraway, his brows lowered in contemplation.

“Shit!” He declares and you jump, startled by the sudden outburst. “Human! Can’t believe I-“ His gaze locks onto you, a mischievous grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. You take a half step back, worried about the look in his eyes. 

“Come with me,” he demands, not giving you a chance to object before yanking you forward by the wrist and dragging you up the stairs to the second floor. You panic at first, remembering Mammon’s warning, before remembering you don’t care. Still, no one likes being jerked around and you tug at your hand, demanding he let you go. You’re ignored, stumbling behind the demon before you’re pulled inside a dimly lit room and the door is slammed behind you. 

You gather yourself, ready to unleash the tongue lashing of the century, except your words are caught in your throat as you look around the room. All the Victorian furnishings of the house stop inside this room. One whole wall is a giant fucking fishtank housing one tiny ass little fish darting around colorful coral structures. On the right adjacent wall is the most sophisticated gaming setup you’ve ever seen, a sight to make the nerdiest nerd cry tears of envy. There is a lounge area in the center, and a large bed on the opposite wall to the computers. Any empty space leftover is crammed with otaku paraphernalia; including volumes upon volumes of manga and videos, figurines, and video games. Even Leviathan’s bed couldn’t escape, his duvet a shrine to some obscure anime and a dakimakura with a picture of the filthiest anime girl you ever seen, half naked and legs spread, her face flushed and covered in cum, and tongue hanging out like a panting dog.

Despite your initial anger, you hide a giggle behind your hand. This guy is the otaku of otakus and you find it...endearing.

“I need your help, human.”

You look over at Leviathan who’s leaning against his door, looking all the world like the Feds are after him.

“[N],” you snap, hoping it sinks in. Of course you’re ignored, it would be too much to ask for you to be treated like the sentient being you are.

“I need you to help me get my money back from Mammon.”

You stare at the demon, bemused with eyebrows raised. “I’m sorry, you what?” You ask, completely blown away that he has the balls to ask anything of you after being such an ass.

“Help. Me. Get my money back.”

You snort. Now you’re done. You stomp toward the demon and grab at the doorknob, twisting and trying to pull.

“Fuck off, creep, get your money yourself,” you growl, shoveling into his side and trying to move him out of the way for all the good it did you. Leviathan looks at least five foot eleven, but he’s a beanstalk. He looks like a stiff breeze would knock him over. Looks can be deceiving as you’re finding out. You push against him, but you might as well be trying to budge a mountain with your bare hands. 

“Will you stop,” he huffs, indignantly, “You’re getting your gross normie germs all over me.”

You step back, actually panting from the effort, glaring at him as hard as you can. “Let me out!” You demand between breaths.

“No,” he replies, turning up his chin. “I don’t know if you quite understand your predicament, but I don’t follow the orders of powerless humans. I was asking for your help out of politeness, you don’t actually have a choice. Now I suggest you calm yourself down before I get pissed.”

You gaze coolly back at him, weighing the pros of kicking him in the balls, but something dark passes behind his eyes and you swallow. You’re angry, so it’s hard for you to see past your feelings to the reality of your situation. You take a deep breath, calming yourself before your attitude gets you literally dead. 

You still can’t help saying under your breath, “Bully.”

“What was that?!” Leviathan demands, the air growing chillier, but you just cross your arms and stare off to the side, shutting your mouth.

Leviathan huffs, “Look, just Yelp me out. I promise you’ll get something out of this.”

You glances back at him through narrowed eyes. “Like what? The loss of my limbs?”

He grins at you, “Even better. Make a pact with Mammon and you’ll get to control him.”

You pause, tilting your head. A pact? 

“I don’t understand,” you say.

“Come on,” Leviathan replies with a roll of his eyes. “Have you really never heard of humans who make pacts with demons? In fact, the other human at RAD has made seventy-two. It can’t be that uncommon.”

He’s kidding right? Until tonight, you never even knew demons existed, let alone that humans actually make pacts with them. 

Wait! Doesn’t that entail…

“You want me to...sell my soul...to Mammon,” You clarify slowly, furrowing your brows and squinting at the demon. “To help _you_ get your _borrowed_ _money_ back.”

He waves a hand dismissively. “Not a big deal, focus on the fact you’ll get complete control over him.”

“At the cost of my _soul_!” You almost shout.

“OMG, will you stop making such a big deal about it! Look around you, does it seem like Hell is that bad? Really.”

He’s...actually got you there. You’re pissed, like _beyond livid_ , about your kidnapping. However, despite your company, you would never have pegged Hell as civilized. Brimstone and torture, yes, but never having a university in it.

And let’s, face it, there is a certain amount of evil glee at the possibility of having control over the biggest dick in the universe.

You sigh, tapping your foot as you contemplate the dumbest idea you’ve possibly ever had. You glances again at Leviathan who’s smirking back at you.

Mammon may be the biggest dick, but Leviathan follows closely at his heels. You sigh again.

“Fine, how do we do this.”

“That’s a good human,” he replies, his grin nearly splitting his face.

“If we’re gonna work together,” you say, glaring at him again, “could you at least have the decency of calling me by my name?”

“Fine, whatever,” he says, finally moving from the door and into his room. He brushes past you and plops down into his rolling, ergonomic desk chair. “Okay, I have a plan.”

You turn toward him and go to sit in one of the lounge chairs closest to him.

“Wait!” He yells, and you pause, half crouched to sit. “Don’t sit there,” he says.

You look back at the chair, but you don’t see anything. Still, his room, his chair, so you shrug and go for the next.

“Or there.”

You look at the chair, then at him, and you narrow your eyes.

“I don’t want your normie germs all over my stuff,” he explains. At this point, your face is going to end up permanently altered from how much you’re glaring at people. You look him dead in his eye and sit anyway. 

You are people, and as such will not be banished to the floor like some lowly mutt.

Surprisingly, Leviathan doesn’t comment, but he doesn’t look happy.

“Anyway, let’s discuss my plan.”

**🕸🕸🕸**

After another hour you finally make it to the room you’ve been assigned. It’s not as large as Leviathan’s, but it’s still big. Almost as large as your whole apartment back home. And it’s gorgeous. 

There is a large antique hutch in one wall with a beautiful, dining table for six. A couch and chaise lounge in the center, a dresser, side table, ridiculously large television, and a queen size antique brass bed with a canopy of vine-y green plants with tiny white flowers that smell kind of like vanilla and sage. And the mattress! Seriously, how is this even hell with a mattress that feels like a literal cloud?

You walked in the first time, your breath catching in awe. You walked around gingerly touching and gazing at the ornate furniture. You opened drawers, gasping when you find them full of your clothes. The closet is large and walk-in and more of your stuff hangs there, making the closet look ridiculous because your stuff barely fills a quarter of it. At home your closet was stuffed full, so seeing so much empty space made you want to fill it up all the more. 

You went back through the drawers, grabbing at various items; a pair of shorts, a t-shirt, some underwear. After the night you’ve had, you needed a bath to relax, and you wanted to check out the en-suite facilities.

The bathroom made you want to cry. It was half the size of the bedroom proper, but even better with a large, porcelain, claw-foot tub that was so deep you could drown in it. The fixtures were all brass and shiny, and against one wall was a standing-only shower with matching fixtures. There was a sink and next to it a vanity and stool, and you gasp to find even your makeup organized on the shelves.

Is it creepy that this is further evidence that these demons invaded your privacy? Yes. But you’re still so grateful. It would be better if you had your phone or computer so you could at least call your family and let them know you’re alive.

These are the thoughts that consume you now as you lay in bed, freshly showered. Now that it’s calm and there are no more distractions, you’re left with your thoughts. It’s so quiet, the only sound is the soft thump of base coming from someone room upstairs and the slam of a door. Other than that, there is nothing to draw you from your spiraling feelings. 

The room is comfortable, you have some of your stuff, but it’s not home. It’s not even a place you chose to be. Diavolo says you’re a guest, but honestly, you’re no more than a hostage for some demon experiment. If all of this goes pear-shaped in the end, you have no doubt you’ll be the one to take the fall. And you have no way to warn your family or to say goodbye.

These are the thoughts that consume you as you succumb to your exhaustion, darkness closing in on you. The only comfort you have is reminding yourself of Leviathan’s ridiculous plan. If it works, you’ll have Mammon under your thumb. 

And then you’ll make him send you home.


	3. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First off, his is the fault of all the readers. Because of all the wonderful comments you all left me, I couldn't get the next chapter of this fic out of my head. It wouldn't even let me work on other fics! This chapter turned out looooong, so guess what? You get a two-for-1 special. 
> 
> I should probably add that this will be a bit of a slow burn, so I hope everyone is alright with that. 
> 
> I think I may have had something else I wanted to say, but I'm currently in the middle of a D&D session and a bunch of guys are talking in my ear and I can't think. Also, this fic is un-beta'd, so don't judge me for my errors.

Your eyes water as sickly, yellowish light starts to bleed in through the sheer curtains that cover a large, beveled window. It’s like runny eggs creeping toward your bed, slow like slime…

Okay, so maybe the lack of sleep is making you melodramatic, but you can’t help it. You passed out last night and only slept for a few fitful hours, your dreams filled with the cries and lamenting of your grieving family and the torturous screams falling from your mouth as you burn in the fiery pits of—

Yeah, these thoughts are not helping your mental state. Anyway, you woke up a sweating mess, thrashing around your bed, then proceeded to cry yourself into numbness, before sinking into depressed resignation as you waited for the night to pass.

_Knock knock_

“Oi! Human scum! Wakey wakey!”

_If there is a god, please smite me now!_

“Oi! Worm! I don’t have all day! Open up before I kick the door down!”

You sigh and crawl from the relative safety of the bed, shambling toward the door and the literal demon waiting on the other side. As you walk by you briefly consider smashing the glass doors of the hutch and using the pieces to end your misery. Though, you’re already in Hell so it’s not like you’d be escaping anywhere.

You grip the door handle and slowly pull it open.

“Yikes!” Says Mammon, as he leans against the door frame, his blue eyes rolling from your head to your bare feet and to your face. “Ya look like hell.” He smirks like he’s made the world’s funniest joke.

You stare back at him, expression as dead as your soul, before turning and shuffling back into your room. You get to the bed and flop onto it, your face buried in the thick downy duvé. A part of you hopes you suffocate in its heavenly softness.

“Oi! C’mon! Ya need to get ready, it’s almost time fer class.”

You hear Mammon moving around your room, though you don’t look. You don’t care.

“I’m not going,” you reply, voice muffled by the cloud surrounding your face.

“The hell you ain’t,” Mammon snaps. “C’mon, if ya don’t get up and get to class, Lucifer will have both our hides and I’ve plans later.”

“Screw you, screw your classes, and an even bigger fuck you to your brother,” you say, turning your head so your words are heard clearly.

You’re met with silence, then you’re hoisted into the air, flipped around, and set on your feet. You don’t even have time to scream. What is it with these people and picking you up like you're a child?!

“I don’t think ya heard me, human. If Luci gets mad, things will get real shitty fer ya,” Mammon says, bending down to get close to your face, presumably to show you how serious he is. Unfortunately for half a second your breath gets lodged in your throat because—and you’ll eat glass before admitting this aloud—Mammon is gorgeous. His blue eyes are dark but full of light, like he has an inward fire burning behind them, and they’re framed by white-blonde lashes that brush his cheeks each time he blinks. His face is as flawless as his brothers’, his jawline delicate without losing any of the masculinity of his sex, his nose is sharp without taking over his face, and his lips full and pink like he’s wearing lipgloss. And don’t get you started on his smell; it’s like liquid sex, rich and earthy like chocolate, yet spicy like chilis and cinnamon, and if you could bottle it up and sell it at Macy’s you’d be rich within a month. 

Of course he notices you staring and his grin grows salacious. “Like what ya see, worm?” He stands to his full height, relaxing back on his heels, his grin devilish. “Too bad yuh’ll never get a taste.”

Whatever had you so entranced evaporates to be replaced by a more logical, feral disgust. You curl your lip in a sneer. “You wish, scumbag.” 

He frowns at you and opens his mouth to retort, but you bowl over him, not letting whatever idiocy he plans to say fall from his lips. “Also, touch me again without my permission and I’ll castrate you in your sleep.”

He closes his mouth and subtly swallows. “Calm down, geez,” he replies. He seems nervous because he’s all of a sudden not meeting your eyes and there is a light dusting of pink on his cheeks. 

_Is this guy for real?_

“Anyway, here,” he says, thrusting a folder at you.

It’s red with the school logo on it, and full to bursting with paperwork. You flip through the documents and snort. Do they seriously think you’re going to fill out shit like _Confidentiality Agreements_?

“Yer class schedule is in there, most of yer classes will be with me, but yuh’ll have a few I didn’ elect to take. Those yuh’ll have with my brothers.”

You look from the folder to him, staring at him open-mouthed. You had hoped Diavolo and Lucifer were joking when they mentioned _school_.

“I-I’m not-seriously-you can’t be _serious_?!” You stutter, voice rising.

Mammon watches you with widening eyes, leaning back slightly as if you’ll haul back and punch him. “What?!” He snaps back at you. “What’d I do now?! I didn’ choose yer classes if that’s what yer bitching about! Take that up with Lucifer!”

“I am _not_ going to school. Again!”

Mammon seems to calm, gazing at you in contemplation. “Why not?” He asks, his tone genuine in its curiosity.

“Why?!” You continue to yell, slightly hysterical. “Because I have _already_ graduated and there is a fucking reason I chose my degree! I have no fucking intention of going to school and suffering any more stress from tests and papers ever again! No way!”

Mammon gasps, “Ohhh…” He shrugs. “Take it up with Lucifer. Until then, like I keep repeatin’, ya have no choice~” he says, the last bit having a sing-song quality about it that makes a vein pop in your temple.

In that moment you realize you did die. You had to have died. That’s the only explanation for all of this. You're surrounded by luxury but your eternal punishment is to be tortured by university.

“Quit bein’ so fuckin’ dramatic,” Mammon says as he walks to the closet. Again without permission (these guys seriously need to work on their boundary issues), he yanks open the closet doors and starts rummaging around in your things.

“Hey!” You holler at him, dropping the offensive folder onto the bed and chasing him into the closet. “Get out of my stuff!”

He just rolls his eyes at you, pulling a hanger from the rack that’s holding a school uniform that matches his. You come to a stop, staring at the atrocious outfit. You’re pretty sure it wasn’t in there last night. 

“No,” you say, your tone holding absolutely no room for argument.

Mammon rolls his eyes. “Do ya know ya complain a lot?”

“I’m not wearing that horrid thing. I’ll look like a Nazi.”

Mammon tilts his head to look at it. “Ya think?” He says with a pleased grin.

“Gross,” you comment. He looks at you with wide eyes.

“What? Some of those guys’re really fucking cool. There are quite a few who hold offices in Devildom…”

You grimace. “I don’t really wanna know.”

Mammon shuts his mouth and shrugs, shoving the uniform at you. “You have five minutes.”

“Or what?” You challenge. You know you’re probably flirting real close to a violent death but you just don’t have any fucks left to give.

Mammon stares at you, then leans into your space as he’s fond of doing. He thinks it makes you feel small. Well, jokes on him, you feel small most of the time, so he’s not accomplishing much.

“Or I’ll dress you myself,” he says, his blue eyes burning hot. 

You feel yourself begin to sweat having Mammon so close again, his cologne or whatever he’s wearing making your uterus scream like a teenager. It doesn’t help that your imagination is supplying you with harlequin-esque visions of him stripping you bare in masculine, righteous anger.

_God I’m so pathetic._

You reign in the horny devil in your head and glare at Mammon. “You _wouldn’t_ ,” you snarl, your heart beating away in your chest like a timpani drum.

Mammon gazes at you for a moment, then pulls away. “No, I wouldn’t,” he replies. The tension bleeds from your shoulders as you breathe in deep with your eyes closed.

“I’d have Asmo do it instead.”

You can feel the smirk on his face like car oil on your skin and it makes you want to claw his pretty eyes out. But you count to ten, unwilling to act out in case he does make good on his promise. The last thing you need is the Avatar of _Lust_ getting his pervy paws on you. You still remember the way his pale eyes drew you in and clouded your head.

“Fine,” you grumble, grinding your teeth. When you open your eyes Mammon is looking at you, a triumphant grin on his smug, gorgeous face.

Then you remember a very interesting conversation with his brother the night before. A conversation with a plan ending in Mammon’s servitude. You had thought you’d have him send you home as soon as it happens, but now you’re thinking you may just have to use the pact to have a little fun. Assuming it works. Still, it’s all the hope you have, so you cling to it with both fists and smile graciously up at the asshole.

“Yes, sir,” you say. Mammon’s eyes widen a bit and his face flushes. Figures that would be a kink.

“R-right! That’s right, worm,” he replies, standing a little taller with his chest thrust out. “That’s what I’m talkin’ ‘bout! That’s the respect the Great Mammon deserves!” Grinning, Mammon turns and walks out of your closet. “Five minutes!” He yells at you as the bedroom door slams behind him.

You exit your closet, stalking to the bathroom. “God I’m gonna make him crawl on the ground like the dog he is!” You growl as you change your clothes.

_This uniform is abhorrent!_

🕸🕸🕸

Eight minutes later you’re walking past the front gate.

“Don’t fucking glare like that, if you had gotten up earlier, ya might have time for breakfast,” Mammon chides, folding just hands behind his head as he leads you leisurely along the sidewalk.

You’re not actually hungry, Mammon’s just mistaking your scowl and general misery as hunger. As you trail behind the demon, you’re actually cataloguing every bad decision, every lie you ever told you can remember, and wondering which one was bad enough to sentence you to a year in Hell.

Lost in your thoughts as you are, you don’t see the uneven sidewalk ahead of you, and you catch the toe of your god-awful brown loafers on the edge, making you lose your balance and face-plant into Mammon’s back.

“Ow,” you mumble, pushing yourself away and rubbing your bruised nose. Not much you can do about the bruised pride, however.

“Geez, ya act like yuh’ve never walked before,” Mammon teases. Sighing as if exhausted from dealing with an unruly child, he reaches into the pocket of his pants and pulls out a breakfast cereal bar. He tosses it at you, and as surprised as you are that

  1. he actually shared something with you, and 
  2. breakfast bars exist in Hell,



you kind of just stand there as it smacks you in the boob and plops to the ground.

You know you’re looking at him like he’s just gone insane, and he looks back at you, fidgety and awkward.

“What?” He snaps. “I can’t have the human dropping dead from hunger now, can I? Don’t need Lucifer jumping down my throat ‘cause you’re weak and all.”

 _Right_.

You don’t really know what to do with this situation, but you don’t litter, so you pick it up, and continue following Mammon. You study the packaging, it’s black with orange writing, and besides the dumb creepy font, it looks like any other breakfast bar. It’s even blueberry flavored. _Blueberry_.

You tear it open, curiosity getting the better of you, and nibble a bit from the corner. It’s...surprisingly tasty, and you realize you’re much hungrier than you thought. You take a hearty bite, chewing in satisfaction and catch Mammon looking at you, his eyes kind of...soft and his smile pleased. Of course he looks away quickly, acting like he wasn’t looking at you, but you can see the tips of his red ears. You roll your eyes. 

You decide to pay closer attention to where you’re going so you don’t end up tripping again and repeating the events moments earlier. 

Are demon cooties a thing?

You have followed Mammon onto the campus proper, the house you’re staying in resting on the edge of the campu property near some woods. You raise your head to look at the sky, squinting in the half light. Devildom doesn’t seem to have its own sun, but there is a light source coming from somewhere, though you can’t pinpoint it. Mist sort of clings to everything, muting the same sickly yellow light that bled into your room from the window earlier that morning. 

“Where does your light source come from?” You ask.

“Huh?” Mammon replies absently.

“Light. You don’t seem to have a sun.”

“Oh.” Mammon looks up at the sky. “Our light comes from the Celestial Realm, but we’re too far for the full effects of it, so it’s duller than it would be. Thankfully. It’s so fucking bright there ya need special sunglasses all hours of the day.”

_Makes sense, I guess._

“Anyway,” Mammon continues. “It doesn’t last long.”

You look at him, your expression blank because he lost you. Mammon rolls his eyes like you’re an idiot. “The daylight, dumbass. It doesn’t last long. By noon it will look like evening to ya.”

“Oh.”

Mammon goes back to ignoring you and you return to observing campus. It’s actually quite pretty and well maintained, though the flora is decidedly different. The grass is a less sharp green, almost grey and sickly in color, though thick and soft. Trees grow everywhere, most sans leaves and twisted, some with lavender-silvery leaves that are quite beautiful. You see an evergreen or two, but the oddest of all are the oak trees dotting the grounds.

“What’s with the oak trees?” You ask, unable to contain your curiosity.

Mammon sighs like your questions are physically hurting him. “Oak trees have many meanings and uses, ‘specially for witches. Plus, they’re inherently evil.”

You snort. The first explanation you can believe. The second...not so much.

“I’m serious,” Mammon defends. “Have ya ever been pelted in the head by an acorn?”

The chuckle escapes before you can stop yourself and Mammon grins at you. You rearrange your expression quickly, you will _not_ allow Mammon to think you like him. Still, Mammon continues to grin as he turns forward.

You continue on in silence, just taking in the scenery. The campus buildings are all old brick and feel like something out of Daigon Alley. Vines creep up buildings, full of big leaves and beautiful flowers that have an almost evil aura, which makes you very wary of them. Flowers, in fact, bloom all around you, some of them like familiar if not unnaturally colored and others that just look plain unnatural. You aren’t a botanist, however, so what would you really know?

Then you catch movement from the corner of your eye and turn to look. A pale shadow drifts by wearing... _gloves_ and _carrying a bucket and shears, what the fuck?!_

“Um...Mammon?”

“Hm?”

“There is a shadow tending your flower garden to the right.”

“Yeah?”

You don’t say anything, not sure how to ask or even if your hallucinating…

“Oh that’s one of the groundskeepers.”

“Ye-ah,” you reply, staring hard and noticing how the shadow fades in and out depending on the light and making it seem like the gloves and such move on their own.

“That’s just one of many of the souls we utilize for tending to more the mundane aspects of Devildom.”

You look at him, mouth gaping. “Wha-? They’re slaves?!” You should not be so offended, you are in Hell, after all. It’s not surprising human souls would be used this way. Though, logically tending a garden is by far better than burning in eternal fire.

“Well yeah,” Mammon replies, pulling out his phone and fiddling with it. “Earning favor gets ya a pass to special privileges. ‘S better than the alternative.”

“Al-alternative?”

“Yep, and if a demon likes you enough, you may even get the benefit of corporeal form. Some humans even work to gain that kind of favor before death through pacts.” Mammon shrugs.

Suddenly, making a pact with Mammon has less appeal, though you’re not sure now if you could back out, even if you wanted. Leviathan doesn’t seem like he would be too pleased. You inwardly kick yourself for once again not thinking through a decision.

“Oh! You may even know a few famous ones!” Mammon looks at you with excitement. You just stare back at him wondering who the hell you might know in the human world who would do something so asinine. Well, except yourself, of course.

“What would you even have to do to get favor like that?”

Mammon thinks for a minute. “Well, take Vlad Țepeș, he befriended Satan and sacrificed several offerings to him, and now he’s a tenured professor at the university.”

You thought for a moment, wondering why that name sounded...familiar…

“Oh my god! Are you talking about _Vlad the Impaler_?! Fucking Dracula is a fucking teacher at this school?!”

Mammon stops in his tracks and looks at you like you have lost your mind. “Yesss...Is that so _surprising_?”

You...you have no words.

“And Dracula is a bit of a stretch. The guy was always human. Unlike say...Countess Báthory. But that was Asmos’ doing. He thought she was pretty creative so he granted her the youth she wanted. Now she’s a pretty popular entertainer, but between you and me, I don’t think she’s all that hot.” His tone is flippant, like talking about crazy women who bathe in blood is _normal_. You know your entire being radiates disbelief but Mammon doesn’t seem to care as he continues leading you on past a few more buildings before stopping.

“Here we are. Pay attention to where we’re going ‘cause these halls get twisted.”

“Uh-huh,” you answer, your head swiveling back and forth. Paranoia is a bitch and suddenly you're a little worried you may run into some abomination of a human.

“God, please don’t let me run into Jack the Ripper,” you mutter under your breath.

“Oh hey!” Mammon says with another grin. “He teaches human anatomy!”

🕸🕸🕸

The first half of your day was by far less interesting than your morning. You did not have any classes taught by historical mass murderers, which you are grateful for, and besides having to sit through a boring theoretical mathematics class that you could not understand in a thousand years of study, it was otherwise pretty boring.

By lunch, evening has fallen, or whatever, as Mammon said it would. The sky outside was orange-red like sunset, and beautiful. The weather wasn’t so bad either. Since you couldn’t understand your classes you spent most of the time on your phone on the Devildom version of the internet (whoever named their most popular search engine ‘Boogle’ should be drawn and quartered). You tried to access Facebook with no luck, but you did learn a bit about Hell’s history. It is quite a bit different from what you have been taught to believe.

After lunch, Mammon disappeared, running off to join a group of _witches_ and leaving you on your own. You forget Lucifer’s warning about roaming around by yourself, a fact that is made terrifyingly apparent when you start noticing whispering and strange, angry looks coming from the other demons walking the halls. A small gathering even looks ready to attack you, so desperate not to die you take off, darting through halls until you find yourself completely alone and safer. Or as safe as you can be. 

So, it should be noted that you had not expected to walk into the building of your first class to see werewolves and vampires and other cryptids. You figured all demons would be like the brothers, and while there are some, it appears that demon species is incredibly varied. Who knew?

Anyway, now you’re alone in an unknown hall, trying to catch your breath and calm your racing pulse. You curse Mammon for ditching you like the irresponsible brat he is, and wonder how the hell you're going to make it to your next class alive without an escort.

“I think you dropped this.”

The voice behind you makes you jump six feet in the air with a squeal. You basically trip over your own feet landing on the cold stone of the corridor floor, your pride and ass bruised, but you can’t give too much thought to any of it because you’re not so alone anymore and you have no demon brothers to protect you.

_Day two in literal Hell and I’m already about to die._

“My name is Solomon, I’m the other human roped into this exchange program with you.”

You look up to find a man, roughly the same age as you and startlingly attractive (is being beautiful in Hell a requirement?), with intelligent brown eyes and white hair. He’s holding your phone in one hand and the other is stretching toward you as if he wishes to help you up, but of course you're suspicious. He says he’s a human, but experience shows demons can masquerade as humans, so who can be trusted?

Your doubt shows on your face and Solomon laughs. “Be careful, demons thrive on fear and you wear yours on your sleeve. It makes you a very tempting meal.” He shakes his hand at you and you begrudgingly take it. He pulls you two your feet and hands you your phone.

“Are you really human?” You ask.

He smiles at you, trouble and mischief making his eyes bright. “Guess that depends on who you ask, [N]. I once received a gift—a ring of wisdom—from someone very powerful. Drunk on its power I made pacts with a lot of demons. So, I’m sure I’m still human, even if I don’t feel like it at times.”

He seems innocuous enough, his smile warm and his eyes alight with enough roguish charm to make him seem like he’d be fun to hang out with. That is, if it weren’t for the faint aura of something dark that clings to him like a shadow.

“Su-re,” you say.

“Well, I should go. If you follow this hall to the end and take a right, you’ll be back in familiar ground. If I were you, I’d hurry to my class to avoid any more near death experiences. Farewell for now and it was a pleasure meeting you, [N].”

“Okay, uh...you too,” you reply, a little bewildered, as he walks away with a wave. Everyone in Devildom is so... _extra_.

You turn to follow his advice and stop short with a gasp, nearly face-planting with Lucifer’s chest.

“Good morning, [N],” Lucifer greets you, his expression serious but his eyes amused as they look you over. It makes you feel like some sort of animal in a cage.

“I’m happy to see you alive and well, though if you’re not more careful, that won’t hold true for much longer,” he adds.

You can’t decide if you should glare at him or bow, so you opt to stand very still with as blank an expression as possible.

“I noticed you have officially met the other human in the program.”

Your nod is a bit jerky but you manage.

“Good. However, while I can’t expect you not to get to know the only other living human in Devildom, I do suggest you remain vigilant around Solomon. He is not trustworthy.”

Something about a demon warning you about trust doesn’t sit right, but you don’t say anything. Lucifer radiates control and authority, and you’re in no hurry to embrace death because you have a rebellious streak.

“Yes...sir,” you say, swallowing back the sarcasm on your tongue.

He nods, seemingly satisfied and it looks as if he means to leave, but you remember the mission Leviathan gave you and you reach out without thinking to stop Lucifer from walking away. He looks at the hand touching him and you snatch it back like you’ve been burned.

“Sorry,” you say. “I-I was just hoping to ask you a question.”

Lucifer turns toward you to give you his full attention, eyebrows raised.

“Could you tell me more about Mammon?”

He studies you for a moment, then tilts his head and narrows his eyes. “Why?”

 _Shit_ . _Think! Think!_

“Well,” you start, rubbing your opposite arm, staring at the ground, trying to buy some time while you think of a legitimate reason for asking that doesn’t include spilling your guts. Literally. Leviathan wants to discover the whereabouts of Mammon’s greatest weakness. How are you supposed to drag that from Lucifer of all demons without giving yourself away?

“Well, I was hoping you might know something about him that would help me…”

“Exploit a weakness and gain advantage? Now why would you’d think I’d spill my secrets?”

You gape at him, his ink dark eyes full of amusement and his thin lips curled in a knowing smirk.

“No-I-“ you sputter incoherently, your mind racing with excuses to recover the situation.

“Besides, I have his one true weakness frozen away in the deepest recesses where his pathetic, pointless existence can never again claim it. It is how I keep him in line, otherwise he would never cease embarrassing his family.”

Despite the fact you agree wholeheartedly with Lucifer’s opinion about his brother, there is a small part of you that can’t help but feel bad for Mammon. Every one of his brothers has a negative opinion about him, all of it most likely deserved, but Mammon has shown you uncharacteristic kindness...once, and it makes your soft spot for gorgeous men even squishier. So, like the pathetic sap you are, you can’t help but feel the littlest offense for Mammon’s sake, even if you refrain from voicing it.

The bell rings for class, interrupting your conversation with the eldest demon brother.

“Well,” Lucifer says, “It seems our time is up. You should hurry to class, [N].” And with that, Lucifer turns and walks away.

🕸🕸🕸

Later that evening, after a very strange dinner consisting of ingredients that can’t possibly be consumable by humans, you sit in your room thinking about that day's events.

You’ve had your shower, and are dressed in a comfortable pair of sleep pants and tank top with a lightweight cardigan, and now you’re lounging on an overstuffed loveseat. You are thinking about the brothers in particular, how different they are from each other, and yet how human some of their characteristics seem.

Lucifer, the uptight oldest who reigns over the rest like an overbearing father.

Mammon, the slacker second born who hides behind a plethora of insecurities.

Leviathan, the loner and third oldest who would rather spend his time hiding in a 2D world than deal with reality.

Satan, the angry fourth born who seems to hate his oldest brother for reasons unknown.

Asmodeus, the pervy fifth in line who’s stuck so far up his own ass it makes Narcissus look altruistic.

Beelzebub, the ever hungry fifth born who seems incredibly shy for a demon.

It makes you chuckle because it only goes to show that men are men no matter what dimension you’re in.

It then occurs to you that you listed all the brothers but one; a seventh you have yet to meet and no one has mentioned.

 _That’s...strange_ , you think, but you don’t get any further in your thoughts because your phone starts beeping and vibrating on the table next to you. You snatch it up, and seeing a notification from Leviathan, you roll your eyes and open the message app to continue your conversation from earlier.

From Dickhead #3: you sure he said he hid it away where no one can find it?

To Dickhead #3: Yes. Sorry to disappoint.

From Dickhead #3: I can hear your insolence in your tone. 

From Dickhead #3: this is very disappointing. 

From Dickhead #3: I should have known you’d be no help, humans are a waste.

It took willpower not to go off on the asshole and rant back at him through angry texts. You consider turning off your phone and ignoring him, you can always claim the battery went dead, but you aren’t sure if it’d be worth making Leviathan angry. Well, angrier. There has to be something you can do to salvage the situation and get yourself in his good graces, if only so you don’t have to deal with his bull shit anymore. Also, you were actually really looking forward to making Mammon bark like a dog.

To Dickhead #3: What is this Greatest Weakness anyway?

From Dickhead #3: oh so now ur curious

You roll your eyes. 

From Dickhead #3: well since you asked and because i really need my money back

From Dickhead #3: Mammon’s most prized possession is his credit card

Really? All this over a credit card. It’s like these people were brought life straight from some WB teenage drama series. How old are these guys, anyway?

Wait! A credit card…

To Dickhead #3: You said credit card?

To Dickhead #3: Lucifer said he froze Mammon’s weakness.

From Dickhead #3: ur point 

To Dickhead #3: In the human world, some people are known to freeze their cards in ice in order not to overuse them.

It’s silent for a few minutes which leaves you time to wonder if it could be true. Would Lucifer do something as mundane as freeze a credit card to stop his brother from using it? 

Actually, is it really so unrealistic? You did just learn that Mammon has a shopping addiction like some spoiled rich kid.

Your phone dings.

From Dickhead #3: meet me in the kitchen.

A few minutes later you’re walking into the kitchen as requested to find Leviathan tapping his foot impatiently.

“When I said meet me in the kitchen, I meant _now_. Not when you fucking felt like it.”

You stop short, still so surprised you can be so easily offended by any of them. You should be used to it after twenty-four hours of non-stop insults.

“For your information, Leviathan, I was dressed for bed and not expecting to be commanded to leave my cell. As such, I had to make sure I was appropriately dressed.”

His foot stops tapping and he raises an eyebrow at you as he looks you up and down.

You huff and roll your eyes. “I had to put on a bra, idiot. I can’t just go frolicking through the halls of this house flapping free in the wind when I am trapped inside with a bunch of strange men.”

Your face heats up as Leviathan’s jaw drops and his eyes zero in on your chest. You cross your arms, protecting your goods from his gaze, but he starts nervously looking anywhere but at you as he splutters, “Wha—I don’t care—no one cares about you and your obviously inadequate—“

He shuts up when you glare at him with the sharpness of one thousand steel blades, promising his slow demise if he finishes that sentence. 

He coughs and shuts his mouth. “Well, anyway. I can’t truly believe Lucifer would actually freeze Mammon’s card in the literal freezer.”

You sigh, thankful for the blatant change in topic. Shrugging you reply, “And I would never have pegged Mammon to have such a human weakness.”

Leviathan stares at you, bemused. “Really? You would never have guessed the Avatar of Greed having an addiction to money?”

Well, when he puts it like that…

You shrug. “Let’s just get this over with.”

Leviathan chuckles and opens up the freezer, digging around and mumbling to himself. You watch as he nearly climbs bodily into the cabinet, wondering how far back could it actually go? It’s like the TARDIS, because you know for a fact that it rests on an exterior wall that isn’t that deep. 

You jump when he gives a shout if triumph, pulling a block of ice from the deepest parts of the freezer, a regular-looking, rectangular shape frozen within it.

“Well, isn’t that something,” Leviathan says with the biggest shit-eating grin you’ve ever seen on a person. He throws it to the floor, the ice shattering on impact and releasing its hostage.

You bend down to pick it up…

“Goldie?!” 

Your head snaps around, watching as Mammon bears down on you, his blue eyes locked on the card with maniacal glee. 

“Is it really you, my love! My all! The one thing more important to me than my life!”

_Oh my god, he’s too much!_

“Uh…” you reply, standing slowly.

“Give it here!” Mammon demands. He looks righteously angry and ready to tear you apart to get to it, and you consider handing it over. The card is not worth losing your arm over.

“No way, you piece of shit!” Leviathan counters, stepping in front of you as if to protect you. For a moment you’re stalled, speechless that _Leviathan_ would put himself in harm’s way for you.

“You can’t have this card until you pay me back, Mammon!”

Oh right, it would be the card Leviathan is actually protecting, not you. You're just the human sacrifice. God you hate these guys.

“Leviathan, I out rank you in power and you know I will rip you and that human scum limb from limb if you don’t get out of my way,” Mammon says, his tone deathly calm. The air temperature drops a few degrees and a familiar itch crawls across your skin, like something is about to happen. You felt that once before.

However, it’s been a long day and you’ve reached and surpassed your threshold of patience, and now you’re done dealing with their shit. You grip the opposite edges of the card between your thumb and fingers, bending it precariously, then step out from behind Leviathan.

“Mammon, if you don’t want me to snap your little plastic baby in half, I suggest you stop threatening me.”

Both demons turn to look at you, one with surprise and the other with a murderous fire in his eyes.

“You do that, human, and I will gut you and eat your liver while you watch.”

You gulp but hold firm, and strangely enough it’s Leviathan that comes to your rescue.

“I’m sure Diavolos would be disappointed to hear that you killed [N] all for a credit card. I wonder how Lucifer would feel about it. You know how much he hates disappointing Diavolos, especially since Lucifer is also the one who took the card from you.”

You look at Leviathan, your eyes wide. He smirks back at you, and you're shocked into speechlessness when he _winks_! Leviathan just winked at you...like your co-conspirators or something!

All the fight drains from Mammon with all the color from his face. He drops to his knees, the temperature in the room returning to normal.

“Please,” he begs.

And you have never felt more powerful in that moment than you have in all your life. You grin maliciously, bending the card just a bit more.

Mammon lunges forward with a hand out, but not to attack. “No! Stop! I’ll do anything!”

Leviathan snickers. “Well well, how pathetic. A prince of Hell begging on his knees before a lowly human. How shameful.”

Mammon glares at his brother, but his face crumbles in misery as he turns back to you, and for a brief moment you feel your own will bend under the pain and loss in his eyes. 

Then something flashes behind his gaze, a spark of defiance and smugness that makes you burn with rage. The fucker knows what his pathetic countenance is doing to you! You sneer at him and bend it further, the plastic groaning under the stress. Mammon holds your eyes for only a second more before relenting.

“Gah! Fuck you, human, what do ya want?! Riches? Fine, I’ll have ya swimming in money!”

You snort. “It figures that you think I’m dumb enough to ask for something so trite. What would stop you from ruining me— _killing_ me—the moment I hand it over?”

Mammon shrugs. “Wouldn’t be the first time, you are human and you’re kind ain’t known for yer brains.”

Your growl in frustration. You’re stuck here for a year and all you want is just a little respect!

“You want this back, asshole?! Then you can have it!” You flip the card so you’re holding it at one edge and you hand it to him.

“Wait!” Leviathan yells as Mammon slowly reaches for it, his expression suspicious.

Just as his fingers brush it you snatch it back out of his reach. “Uh uh uh, demon. You have to give me something in return.”

Mammon growls at you. “I figured. What do you want?”

“Make a pact with me.”

You see Leviathan squeak happily and dancing in place at the edge of your vision .

“Sure, fine—wait! What?!” Mammon replies, his expression horrified.

“That’s right, _Mam_. I want a pact or I snap your girlfriend in half.”

There is dead silence in the kitchen, so quiet you hear munching in the background. Everyone looks up to see Beelzebub eating from a box of crackers.

“Wha—how long have—“ Leviathan stammers, trying to ask the question on all your minds.

Beelzebub shrugs. “Long enough. Please continue, I want to see how this plays out.”

Mammon sighs and it finally, truly sounds defeated. You and Leviathan turn back to him.

“Fine,” he whispers with his head hung low. “Fine.” He says, more determined, now glaring up at you. “I, Mammon, second born of the Demon Lords of Hell and the Devildom, and the Avatar of Greed, do hereby pledge my services to this...to [N] until her death, whereby I will collect her soul as payment.”

You flinch at the last part, and also because as soon as the words are done, you feel something lock into place in the deepest parts of your soul. You know now, that no matter what, Mammon is yours, and you his.

And also that you just condemned yourself to Hell.

Leviathan clapping brings you back from your thoughts. He smiles at you like you just gave him the world, and the gratitude almost makes the whole thing worth it.

“Now, [N], command him to give me back the money he owes me.”

Beelzebub giggles in the background, now eating from a bag of chips, the empty box of crackers haphazardly tossed to the counter.

“What?!” Mammon screeches. “Was this whole thing over a little money?! You could have just _asked_ Levi, not conspired for my downfall.”

“I did ask,” Leviathan deadpans. “And stop being so dramatic.”

“Dramatic?! You’re not the one tied to a human for however long! In all my years I have _never_ contracted with a human. I don’t share power! Now I’m..I’m... _trapped_!”

“Then send me home!” You yell back.

All eyes turn to you.

“What?” Mammon asks, quieter now.

“I command you to send. Me. HOME!” You had initially planned to wait and play around with Mammon, exact revenge. But now that you're here and have won…

You, you just wanted to go home.

“I-I can’t, [N],” Mammon replies, softly.

“Send me home, Mammon. You have to, I command it and you have to do what I say.”

Mammon shakes his head. Leviathan snorts and you glare at him, but he just looks uncomfortable. Beelzebub eats his cookies.

“You don’t understand,” Mammon defends. “I am commanded by you, but I am also commanded by Diavolos and his will is greater than yours. I’m-I’m sorry, [N].”

You stare at him. You stare and your eyes fill until your vision blurs. For a moment it looks like Mammon wants to reach out to you, but he doesn’t. And you won’t cry in front of them again.

So plan B it is.

Mammon sees the change in your eyes and swallows, worry darkening his expression. But instead of getting back at you for being an asshole since you first met, you just tell him, “I command you to pay back Leviathan right now.” You’ll start operation humiliate Mammon tomorrow.

Mammon, though, continues to sit on his knees, but he grimaces.

“What now?” You ask with a sigh.

“I can’t follow a command I don’t have the means to fulfill.”

You squint at him, then say, “Meaning you're broke?”

“The coffers are empty,” he replies, shrugging nonchalantly.

“What?!” Leviathan growls. He looks two seconds away from ripping Mammon’s head from his shoulders. You hold up a hand, trying to keep him from reacting impulsively.

“I got this, Levi, calm down,” you say to the aggravated demon. 

He gazes back at you, obviously calmer, but his tangerine eyes look at you with something unidentifiable in them. “You just called me Levi.”

What?

Oh.

You cringe, it happened automatically, and you don’t know why Leviathan suddenly became ‘Levi’.

“Yeah—well, whatever,” you say, staring at the ground in embarrassment. You breathe deep and look at Mammon who’s staring at you with this _look_ . It’s angry, or something, but it doesn’t feel directed at you. It makes your breath hitch because it feels familiar in a way you _don’t_ want to consider…

And yet…

You clear your throat. “Mammon, I command you to get a job and pay your brother back. Effective tomorrow.”

You can’t help the smirk that pulls up your lips as his face drains of color.

“Yer joking,” he says.

You shake your head, giggling. “No-puh.”

“I-I don’t _work_.”

“You do now.”

He glares at you and stands, stalking up to you with his hands curled like he wishes to wrap them around your throat. You’re fairly certain he can’t kill you now, so you stand your ground and gaze innocently up at him, tilting your head so your neck is bared. 

He stares at the expanse of skin, the heat in his gaze slightly hotter than it should be for someone supposedly angry. It makes heat flare in your own body and you desperately try to calm the thudding of your heart because, _fuck no_ you are not attracted to this douche nozzle.

Mammon meets your eyes and the heat within you spreads. But the look is gone in a flash, Mammon covering it up with irritation. “Gah!” Mammon exclaims, throwing his hands in the air and turning his back on you and marching out of the kitchen.

Levi—athan sidles up to you with a grin and bright eyes. “I knew you could do it!” He squeals.

You can’t help but grin back. Something about causing his joy makes little sparks of happiness flutter through your chest and you squash it with everything you have inside and bury it where it will never see the light of day.

For half a second you think Leviathan will hug you, but he jerks back awkwardly and settles for petting your shoulder, then wiping his hand on his pants. You roll your eyes.

“You’re okay for a human normie, [N].”

Your pulse jumps. It is the first time you hear your name from his lips and it sounds sweet. Ugh…

“Sure, Leviathan.”

He frowns, but it lasts only a moment before he’s grinning again. “Alright, time to plan for my event!” He turns and dashes out of the kitchen without so much as a ‘goodnight’. Then it’s just you and Beelzebub.

“That was pretty clever of you, human,” he says past a mouthful of dry cereal. The island countertop is littered with empty packaging and crumbs. How he managed to eat so much in such a short time is beyond you.

You look up at him and shrug, feeling a little awkward. You haven’t really spoken with Beelzebub since last night, so you don’t know what to expect from him.

“It’s not everyday a human can trick a demon into a contract.”

“Hey, who is the seventh brother?” You ask without answering him when you remember your thoughts from earlier.

Beelzebub’s chewing slows and his brow furrows. “Don’t ever mention him again,” he says. It’s unthreatening but authoritative. 

“I—um—“

“Seriously. Lucifer would get pissed, and he’d get real pissed if I told you about it. In fact, it’s none of your business, human, so stay out of it.”

You’re kind of thrown for a loop. You weren’t expecting this reaction at all and it makes you all the more curious. What has happened between the brothers that the youngest one has become taboo?

“I’m done here. I’ve eaten all the good snacks. I think I’m gonna head up to Lucifer’s office and see if he’s hiding his poisoned apples in his desk.”

With that, Beelzebub abandons you and you’re left alone in the kitchen. You look around and since there is nothing left for you here, you decide to head back to your room. 

You make your way back, lost in thought. Once safely locked away, you crawl into bed deciding you’ve had enough excitement for one day. But as you lay there sleep evades you. You can’t help but think about the brothers and Beelzebub’s words.

It looks like even demon families have secrets.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gimme more of those nice comments, yo! I'll also take kudos. I'm not picky.
> 
> Thank you all for reading!!


	4. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the second part of chapter 2 as promised.

“AHHHHAHAHAHA!”

“Asmo, keep your voice down!” Satan commands, but the fact his lips keep curling at the corners completely ruins his authority.

Asmodeus wheezes, clutching at his stomach, curled over the dining table. He pounds the surface with a fist and continues to cackle and snort. “How can you not laugh?!” He gasps between peals of laughter.

It’s the next morning and you’ve joined Asmodeus, Leviathan, Satan, and Beelzebub for breakfast. The large, ornate dining room holds an equally large cherry wood table. On one wall a buffet carved from a wood you’ve never seen is piled high with enough food to feed four families. Your stomach growls upon entering, the aroma of fresh eggs, fresh baked croissants, meat pies, and other foods you try not to look too hard at all making your mouth water. Truthfully, it had been the smell of cooking wafting from the kitchen that had awoken you, the downside of sleeping right next to it. 

You were the last to arrive, having taken the time to fix your hair and put on makeup. You hadn’t done so the day before because Mammon only gave you five minutes, but you notice the subtle way the brothers’ eyes linger on your face when you walk in. Of course Asmodeus has to call you out with blatant, almost indecent comments. You just glare at him and fill a plate.

As soon as you sit down, Leviathan started gushing about your evening and regaling Satan and Asmodeus with the story of how you managed to make a pact with Mammon, hence Asmodeus’s guffaws. Beelzebub sits, quietly listening. Or as quiet as he can be as he literally eats his way through a plate, the ceramic crunching like toast between his teeth. You lose track of the story as you watch, wondering how he manages not to cut himself and amazed he is still alive. No one else has said anything, so you assume this is a normal occurrence.

You’re sitting next to Leviathan who is across the table from Asmodeus, and you drag your attention from Beelzebub to the Avatar of Lust when he begins to lose his shit, laughing so hard you worry he might choke.

“Seriously, Asmo, calm down before you wake the dead with your cackling,” Satan continues to chastise, though he is chuckling himself.

“Oh come on, Satan! How can you _not_ laugh. Mammon, a Demon Lord of Devildom and the Avatar of Greed, the third most powerful demon in existence after Diavolo and Lucifer, managed to get his dumb ass caught in a contract with a measly _human_!”

The other three brothers join Asmodeus in his mirth. You would join them, but honestly have no idea why it is so funny. Solomon has seventy-two contracts. Leviathan has acted like making pacts is almost common. What is the big deal?

“It’s not easy to convince a demon to make a pact.”

You look at Beelzebub, the one who spoke to you, and you’re a little surprised he seems to know your thoughts. You wonder if he can read minds.

“You looked confused,” he says and you nod, relieved he is just reading your nonverbal cues. “Demons only make pacts if you trick them or prove your worth. No one wants to submit to willingly to a lesser being.”

You glare at him, but he just shrugs, and you can’t completely hate him. Truthfully, you _are_ weaker in terms of mystical power. You will argue, however, that emotionally you outrank them by a mile.

Eventually everyone calms down enough to continue their meals, and Beelzebub goes to the buffet for his tenth plate of food. You sit quietly, thinking about nothing and everything as you sip your coffee. You will admit this much, the Devildom really does have the best coffee you’ve ever tasted.

“I’m actually quite surprised you, an average human, managed to get a pact with Mammon. Especially after only being in the Devildom for barely two days,” Asmodeus says, popping a grape-like fruit into his mouth with a smirk. 

You roll your eyes and put down your mug. “Maybe I’m not so average.”

Asmodeus sits back in his seat, his expression is amused, but his eyes burn with something predatory. “Perhaps you’re not. I mean, you also managed to partner up with Levi. Miracle of miracles.”

“Maybe it’s just beginner’s luck,” Satan counters. 

You don’t disagree, still, you really don’t like the fact they constantly underestimate you.

“However,” Satan continues, “I never thought I’d see the day a human wins over Levi.”

“Hey! No one _won_ me over. I just happened to offer her something she couldn’t refuse. It was business, nothing more!” 

“The lady doth protest too much, methinks,” Asmodeus says, his grin wild and eyes like fire, and you have to look away from him when he throws a confident wink your way. Asmodeus is the perfect balance between feminine and masculine, delicate eroticism and raffish charm packaged in physical perfection and birthing the epitome of desire, which is the definition of the Avatar of Lust. And also what makes him very dangerous in a very different way from his brothers. 

You’re not stupid, but you are human, and Asmodeus is a spider, and you refuse to be caught within his webs. You will do everything in your power to stay under his radar, because you have no doubt, given the chance, Asmodeus would pounce like a cat with a ball of yarn, and you are no toy.

“Fuck off Asmo, if I had known how easy it would have been, I would have hired any random human to do the work. Now I can finally buy the Blue Ray box set of _Journey to the Devildom_ …”

You tune out Leviathan, not interested in his nerdy rambling, fuming about his comment. You shouldn’t care, what does it matter if _any_ human could have made the pact? The fact is it was _you_. So who cares if Leviathan dismisses you, again. You don’t need his approval.

“Well, I think if we’re not careful, we might all of us find ourselves contracted with [N],” Asmodeus says, interrupting his brother’s rant about the 2D love of his life. The rest of the hall falls silent in contemplation and unintentionally, you lock eyes with Asmodeus, his soft peach gaze drawing you in. “If you had a choice, who else would you make a pact with, [N]?” 

His tone is teasing, but there is also a hint of reckless promise. Your face heats up and it takes a real amount of strength to drag your eyes away so you can look at the table.

“No one,” you whisper, mostly just to be defiant.

“Hm,” Asmodeus muses and his brothers chuckle. “Somehow I doubt that. Besides, anyone would want me, humans can’t help but be enamored by my beauty and allure. Still, your wants mean nothing and none of us are as pathetic as that poor excuse of a demon you easily tricked into a pact. I’m sure my brothers agree that it would be highly offensive if you thought we were easy targets.”

Your head snaps up, eyes wandering around the table. Four sets of demon eyes stare back at you, a sense of superiority and smugness rolling over the room, and Asmodeus grins back at you as if in challenge.

Oh, the things you could say. Like how you don’t want them anyway. But, a small part of you wishes to prove Asmodeus and his brothers wrong. Bend them to your will just to rub it in their faces and make them apologize.

“Someone is angry,” Satan says, his eyes closing with a sigh. “I can taste it.”

“Mmm…” Asmodeus groans, “And how does she taste, brother.”

Satan opens his eyes, they’re slightly darker than usual. His pink tongue darts out to wet his lips before they spilt into a salacious grin. “Sweet.”

You stand so quickly your chair nearly upends. You open your mouth to tell Satan and Asmodeu just what you think about them but Mammon chooses to walk in at that moment.

“What’s sweet?” He asks, oblivious as usual.

And like that, the demon brothers lose interest in you, the butt of all jokes making an appearance.

“The fact your lame ass managed to get tricked into a pact with our pet human,” Asmodeus answers.

Mammon growls and smacks him in the head and you inwardly cheer. Maybe you’ll make Mammon beat him up since you can’t without, like, dying.

“Ow! What the fuck, Mammon?!”

“I’m all out of patience this morning, so keep yer trap shut!”

“I’m sorry you’re so bitter about your inadequacy…”

Like twice before, the temperature drops a few degrees within the room. “Please continue, Asmodeus, seriously. It’s been a while since I had a good fight.”

You watch as Asmodeus deflates, sitting back in his chair and looking away from Mammon with a shrug of his shoulders. “Calm down, I’m just teasing, Mammon.”

Mammon glares at him, then stares down everyone else at the table. “Anyone else have somethin’ to say?”

“You’re a fool,” answers Satan without missing a beat.

“It serves you right,” adds Leviathan.

“This is so _good_ ,” says Beelzebub, chewing happily from his fourteenth plate of breakfast.

“Ya know, fuck y’all, I hate ya,” Mammon declares, pouting as he walks over to the buffet. “Geez, Beel! Save some for the rest of us!”

Beelzebub shrugs, “You know what they say; the early bird gets the worm pie.”

Okay, that was a horrific visual. You grab your mug and make your way to the coffee. Mammon glares at you as you pass and you roll your eyes.

“Hey, can ya believe Lucifer actually froze my Goldie? He kidnapped her and forced her into an icy prison just to punish me. How cruel!” Mammon says as he fills a plate with whatever leftovers he can find.

“You’re so twisted,” Leviathan sneers. “It’s a piece of plastic, not a person.”

“To you maybe,” Mammon counters. “It’s still lame. Ya think the _Lucifer_ could have come up with a better plan. But what can ya expect from someone with no creativity or personality.” Mammon laughs, unaware of the silence that engulfs the dining room, or that Lucifer has arrived and stands behind him. Everyone else watches the fallout with wide eyes.

“Hahaha!” Lucifer joins in and Mammon jumps a foot in the air, his already pale skin turning death white.

“You were saying? About my personality? Please continue,” Lucifer goads, raising an eyebrow at Mammon who swallows and clamps his mouth shut. Lucifer nods, pleased his brother chose wisely, then he turns to you.

“It seems congrats are in order, [N]. It’s no easy task to create a contract with a demon, even if he is dim witted.”

“Hey!” Mammon glares at Lucifer while his other brothers snicker.

“I expect Diavolo will be quite pleased,” Lucifer adds, expression pleased.

You continue making your coffee and reply, “Hooray, my dreams have come true.”

Lucifer doesn’t comment on your disrespect, surprisingly. 

“Well, I’ve lost my appetite,” Mammon shares. “C’mon human, let’s get going.” He walks past you, grabbing your arm as he goes. You squawk, nearly losing your footing and dropping the mug as you're dragged backwards toward the exit. You just manage to put the cup down, then you find yourself self leaving the dining room, five brothers staring at you as you disappear out of the door.

“What gives?” Mammon mumbles to himself, dragging you down the hall then stopping.

“Mammon, let go! What have I told you about touching me without permission.”

Unexpectedly he drops your arm without a fight. Was it the command? Or does it have to do with the sour look in his face.

“Lucifer is stuck so far up Diavolo’s ass it’s disgusting.” Mammon growls and runs a hand roughly through his platinum locks. Then he glares at you.

“Ever since ya showed up, things have gone to shit. So let’s get one thing straight, worm, I didn’t want this contract and I’m not happy with it. I did it for Goldie, got it? Yer life means nothin’ to me and no one’ll shit two stones if ya die. Yer not special just ‘cause you have a contract. Even if you did paint yer face.”

“Seriously?!” You snap, too pissed off to catch the backhanded compliment from Mammon. This morning has been worse than horrific. You’ve had to deal with Asmodeus’s baiting, Satan’s creepy demon stuff, and Leviathan’s dismissal. You have reached your last nerve with Mammon’s insults. “Please call me by my name,” you plea, just wanting _one ounce_ of respect.

Mammon laughs gleefully. “Ya really think I’m gonna call ya by yer name ‘cause of a contract?!” He continues to laugh.

That’s it. That’s all you can take. Time to test out this pact.

“Hey Mammon?”

“Yeah,” he answers, breathing deeply and wiping tears from his eyes.

“Sit, boy.”

His eyes go wide as he immediately takes a seat in the middle of the hallway. Your eyes do the same, but you grin. 

“What the fuck?! My body just acted on its own!” He yells. He looks up at you, his eyes dark with murder. “Release me right this instant, human!”

He makes to grab at you but you jump out of reach, standing with your arms crossed and a grin of victory on your face. “No.”

“I mean it, worm. Release me now or when I get free I’ll rip ya to pieces!”

“No,” you reply calmly. You squat before him, your gaze intense as you say, “Mammon, you _will_ sit here until you say my name.”

He turns his nose up, his lips curled in disgust. “Ya may control my body, but I still own my mind. I won’t say anything and if ya think ya can outlast me, well let’s just wait and see. I’m immortal and I have all the time in the universe.”

You stare quietly at him. A new thought comes to you and you smile at him wickedly. “Okay, I’m sure Diavolo and Lucifer will understand. Have a good day.” You rise and turn as if to leave, inwardly high fiving yourself at the look of fear in Mammon’s eyes. You get about five steps before he’s calling to you.

“Wait. C’mon, don’t leave me here. Human...wait!” You shake your head and continue toward the front entrance.

“Wait!” He yells again and you hear him curse in frustration. “[N]! Wait, don’t leave, Lucifer will have my ass!”

You stop and nod at him. “Okay,” you say and he jumps to his feet with a shout if happiness. He jogs up to you. You remain wary as he did threaten to kill you.

“Thanks, [N], thank you!” He pants. You’re a little surprised and befuddled. Mammon had been pissed, yet he acts like nothing happened.

“See that wasn’t so hard now was it?” You say, seeing how far you can push him.

Mammon stares at you for a moment, then he chuckles. “Yer a little shit,” he replies. “C’mon, let’s get to class before the principle, ie, my tyrant brother goes all dad-mode.”

Well...you’re not sure how to respond. Is Mammon bi-polar? 

He trots off as happy as a clam in the sea and you follow with a shake of your head and a grin. Mammon sure does keep you on your toes.

🕸🕸🕸

The halls of RAD echo with whispers that follow you around all day. It’s very disconcerting seeing as you prefer to blend in with the scenery so that you don’t attract unwanted attention. 

“One would think the novelty of having a human in Devildom would lose its appeal by now.” The strange voice speaks from behind you, and you stop collecting your things for the day to turn around and face them. A young man, maybe slightly younger than you, stands a few feet away. He has a dark head of hair, a chunk of it framing his face dyed a silvery green. He’s petite, though still a few inches taller than you, yet he’s dressed like some sort of military general.

“I think it’s a good thing,” Diavolo comments, standing with Lucifer next to the stranger. “If all eyes are on her, then it makes it that much harder for someone to try stealing her soul.”

That’s not exactly a comforting thought.

“Besides, I find it impressive [N] managed to entrap a demon so soon after arriving,” he adds, smiling at you warmly. 

It makes your cheeks heat up, but you ignore it. “Why is everyone freaking out about a single contract? Doesn’t Solomon have, like, seventy? He’s human.”

The stranger hides a grin behind a gloved hand and Diavolo chuckles. “He barely qualifies as such by this point.”

You’re not sure what to make of that comment. The stranger speaks before you can ask for clarification.

“Diavolo, it seems you chose well, then, when you brought her here.”

You open your mouth prepared to add your opinion.

“I only created the computer program, the actual choice was out of my control,” Diavolo interrupts, waving away the praise.

You look between the three demons and sigh. Turning to the stranger you ask, “Who’re you?”

In your periphery you see Diavolo snicker and Lucifer glower at you for your rudeness. Like you care.

“Ah yes, we haven’t met yet, I suppose,” the stranger says. “I am Barbatos, and I supposed you can consider me Diavolo’s steward.”

“His what?” You ask, because you aren’t from the Middle Ages and know little of servant/master speak.

“He is Diavolo’s assistant,” Lucifer answers for him. “He is truly an intelligent and talented individual and I would trade Mammon for him in an instant if I could. Speaking of, where is my useless brother?”

“Who’s supposed to be watching who?” You ask Lucifer with a raised eyebrow. One of his eyes twitches, though he remains silent. “Why is he insistent on being a brat?” Lucifer grumbles.

“Well,” Diavolo says with a laugh, “The most stubborn children are said to be the cutest.”

Lucifer grimaced, “Please, Diavolo, it’s bad enough he’s my brother, as my child I would have eaten him.”

Both Diavolo’s and Barbatos snicker. You’re not sure if Lucifer is joking, you hope he is joking. Something tells you he is not joking, however. You shudder.

“I did notice that you didn’t deny his cuteness, Lucifer.”

You turn around, and oh, more strangers. Two more people have joined you; a tall, athletic man with a suntan and wearing barely any clothing, and a young child dressed like a funny-looking sailor.

“I’m my opinion, out the seven, you Lucifer, are the worst,” the taller man continues.

Lucifer rolls his eyes. “Is that a compliment, Simeon?”

The little boy gets red in the face and snaps back at him, “Of course demon! Why would he compliment you?!”

You like this kid immediately, but it still begs the question why anyone would bring a child to Hell.

“I see you brought your guard dog,” Lucifer says, lazily gazing down at the boy. “ _Bark_ _bark_.”

The little boy looks like he’s about to pop a vein, he’s so livid he’s shaking. “I am _not_ a dog.”

“You sure make a lot of noise like one,” Lucifer immediately counters and the other demons chuckle. “You remind me of a chihuahua.”

The little boy stomps his foot, the air in the room going slightly hotter. Lucifer continues to smirk at him, his dark eyes challenging.

“Come now, Lucifer, stop harassing my companion,” the other man says, though he’s grinning too.

“[Name], let me introduce Simeon, one of two exchange students from the Celestial Realm,” Diavolo says, still grinning and trying to do damage control.

Your eyes widen, staring at the actual angel. He smiles at you and it’s beautiful, his blinding white teeth setting off his golden skin.

“It's very nice to finally meet you, [N]. I’ve heard a lot about you.

“I thought angels would be more conservatively dressed,” is the first thing that pops out of your mouth. 

Simeon looks down at his clothes then back at you, breaking into a wide grin. “Skin is nothing to be ashamed of, I assure you, but the air here sits differently than at home and my skin is sensitive.”

You nod, still very confused. Your eyes fall in the boy and you say, “So is this your little brother?”

The boy gasps, his face red and Simeon and the demons all laugh. 

“This is Luke, the other angel in the exchange,” Simeon answers.

“Oh,” is your reply, and you tilt your head, squinting. “Isn’t he a little young? What are you, like ten years old or something?”

Diavolo, Lucifer, and Barbatos are huddled together, failing to hold back their snickering. Luke looks like he’s ready to smite every one within reach.

“I am not a child! I may be low ranking, but I report directly to the Archangel Micheal!”

A low barking comes from the group of demons which starts the laughter all over again. You glare at them and their immaturity, at least you were asking out of genuine curiosity.

“I’m sorry,” you apologize to Luke. “You just look like...like a kid. Are you, like, a cherub?”

Even Simeon laughs this time and you look at everyone truly confused by their humor.

“Ugh!” Luke growls in exasperation. “I can’t help it, this is just how I was made!”

“Oh.” You honestly feel sorry for him. “Can you lodge a complaint or something? It doesn’t seem fair.”

“Alright,” Simeon interrupts, smiling broadly, his sky blues eyes shining with mirth. “Luke is perfect as he is, whether he knows it or not.”

Luke beams up at Simeon, his anger momentarily forgotten. Simeon smiles down at his partner and pats him in his head, and for a second you think Lucifer is right about him. You can practically see the wagging tail.

“Well, I am certainly glad to see things are going well,” Diavolo says to know one in particular. “Barbatos, Lucifer, we should be going.”

Diavolo and Barbatos walk away, but Lucifer turns to you. “[N], do me a favor and look after Mammon.”

You stare at him blankly for a moment, wondering if you hear right. “I’m sorry, what?!” He has to be joking, how has Mammon now become your responsibility? “I thought he was supposed to be looking after me?!”

Lucifer shrugs and walks away without saying anything else and leaving you stewing. Asshole.

“We should leave too,” Simeon says, and you wonder if the angel ever stops smiling. “Come along, Luke.”

Simeon turns and walks away, not bothering to check if Luke is following him, which he isn’t. He’s still standing in front of you, staring intensely. It makes you really uncomfortable.

“You can’t trust demons. Lucifer especially.”

That’s all he says, he doesn’t even wait for a reply, he just abruptly turns and stalks off on his skinny little legs.

Everyone is so _weird_ here!

You don’t stay either, making your way out of the building to find Mammon. 

Lucifer warns you not to trust Solomon, Luke warns you not to trust Lucifer. No one warns you not to trust the angels, which shouldn’t be a thing, but you can’t find yourself totally willing to trust them either. 

It’s fine though, you know you can trust yourself and that’s all you need.

🕸🕸🕸

“Help!”

Your half asleep, thoughts lazy and half formed when you hear the soft call.

“Someone! Help me!”

You sit up, fully awake now and wondering if your imagining things. Is it someone’s television? You’re hoping it’s not actually someone in any danger in this house because you stay here and you don’t need the added stress…

“Help!”

You sigh and crawl out from beneath the warm covers. You throw on your favorite cardigan over the loose t-shirt and shorts you’re wearing, making your way to your door. 

You open it up, sticking your head out and looking around. The hall is empty.

“Help me!”

You slip out of the room, the carpets and your knee high socks muffling your steps. The voice continues to call and you follow it, pausing every so often to determine which way to go. It grows louder the closer you get until you find yourself at the bottom of a set of long, winding stairs that lead upward.

“Anyone there?” You hear floating down the stairs, the voice deep but hesitant.

You’re about to call out, your hand falling on the balustrade while you twist your neck trying to see what’s up above. You raise your foot...

“I would not go any further if I were you, [N]?”

The familiar voice of Lucifer startles you and you snatch your hand back from the railing as if it tried to bite you.

“It is dangerous up there and no place for a human. Go back to your room and go to sleep.”

You look up the stairs again and then at Lucifer. “Why?”

A dark cloud descends across his black eyes, and Lucifer narrows them at you. He steps toward you, coming to a stop just feet away, crossing his arms over his chest. “Because I told you so, and as far as you're concerned, [N], my word is law. No go. Go on and go back to your room.”

He isn’t rude and he doesn’t yell, but his tone leaves no room to deny him either. You scoot around him and leave as quickly as possible, his eyes burning into your back until you turn a corner.

You get back to your room and close the door, your heart pounding as you lean against it to catch your breath.

_The fuck was that about?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and kudos welcome.


	5. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'M BACK!!
> 
> A big, hearty, and affectionate thank you to everyone who is following this story and those of you leaving comments/kudos. I am floored by the positive response and I read every single comment. Also, don't know if I've mentioned, but this fic ain't beta-d, so please excuse any errors or grammar mistakes. I try to catch them, but after reading the same chapter several times, all the words sorta blend together. 
> 
> Told you that I am a slow updater. However, I am a nice one. This chapter got so long I had to break it up into two, so guess what? That's right, you get 2 chapters for the price of 1. You can say it, I'm awesome.
> 
> Anyway, CW for this chapter. Smut ensues and it's non-con...without the rape-y-ness. 
> 
> Enjoy. :)

“This is bullshit,” Mammon complains, pushing grayish eggs around his plate and slouching in his seat with a pout. “Can’t believe I’m stuck here eating breakfast _with ya_ instead of _having ya_ for breakfast.”

You roll your eyes, your face buried in your cup of coffee, and flip Mammon off. You try not to think too hard about how a sudden flare of arousal hits you with those spoken words, though you know Mammon never meant it _that_ way.

“I mean, humans are a delicacy, and here I am breaking bread with the equivalent of a premium iriomote hog while dining on newt eggs. And to top it off—the salt in my wounds—is the fucking hog gets ta order me around,” he continues.

Case in point; he doesn’t want to ‘eat’ you, he wants to _eat_ you. Which pisses you off because you shouldn’t _care_ about his intent. 

“Hey Mammon?” 

He stops grumbling for a moment, the petulant glare he throws your way is almost adorable. _Almost_.

“Ever played _Fluffy Bunny_?” You ask, grinning into your cup in order to hide your intentions. Petty revenge sounds like a just return.

“The fuck is that?” He sneers in disgust. It’s odd how things between you two were slightly better the day you made him sit like a dog and now he’s back to insulting you with every breath. _Oh well, he’ll learn._

“It’s this game where you repeat _fluffy bunny_ everytime you shove a marshmallow into your mouth until you can’t say the phrase.”

He snorts, his expression disbelieving. “What’s the purpose of somethin’ so fuckin’ stupid?”

You smile sweetly at him. “Why to see how many you can fit into your mouth.”

There is a beat of silence between you, then Mammon’s eyes widen.

“Ya wouldn’.”

Your smile turns malicious.

He glares at you in smug defiance. “There ain’t any marshmallows here anyway. Ya lucky too, ‘cause things would get real bad fer ya-“

“Mammon, sweetie, why don’t you see how many of those croissants you can fit in your mouth,” you interrupt, smirking back at him when his eyes get really wide. “That’s an order.”

You watch his trembling fingers reach toward the platter of croissants, if that’s what you can call them. “Yer dead meat when ya release me, got it? Dead. Meat.”

“Don’t forget to say _fluffy bunny_ too.”

Mammon stuffs the croissant in his mouth, glaring at you so hard you’re genuinely surprised you haven’t burst into flames.

“Fuffy b-nny,” he growls, and you cackle as he reaches for the next.

He’s got three packed in his mouth like a greedy chipmunk and trying for a fourth when you look around the dining room. It’s just Mammon and you, which is disappointing since his brothers would have loved to see this.

“Where is everyone?” You ask absently.

“ _Mphumphhummohmf_.”

You turn your gaze to Mammon, forgetting for a second what you had made him do. His eyes are wide and there are tear tracks down his cheeks as he tries so very hard to get that fourth croissant to fit. He looks on the verge of either passing out or choking, and for a split second you consider getting up and leaving him there to do so.

It’s not like he would actually suffer anyway, the stipulations of the command says to see how many he can fit, so once he can’t fit anymore, he’s technically free to stop. But you’re a damn bleeding heart and you feel a little guilty. “You can stop now,” you sigh.

Mammon’s eyes narrow at you, his gaze grows determined, and as his face starts going red from lack of oxygen, Mammon continues to shove that fourth croissant into his mouth by sheer will. He gets the job done, though he’s covered in crumbs and he’s starting to leak drool—which is disgusting—because he can’t close his mouth fully with all the bread stuck in it. Somehow, though, Mammon is able to grin smugly back at you, then he’s leaning over his plate and spitting out the drool soaked baked goods.

“Oh, gross,” you whine, your lips curling in disgust and your stomach rolling.

Mammon sits back up, smug while he works his jaw. “Ha! Four, bitches! Let’s see ya try that!”

You snort. Mammon doesn’t look mad, in fact he looks rather pleased with himself. So much for punishment.

Mammon occupies himself with cleaning the crumbs from his clothes, happily humming to himself. He is a mystery to you, a dichotomy of insults and submission that confuses and, unfortunately, intrigues you. While he’s busy you're free to stare at him, the way his platinum hair bounces with every movement, catching the off yellow light from the large windows. It looks impossibly soft, _he_ looks impossibly soft, his face free of the arrogance that constantly shadows it. His lips are full and doll-like, naturally pink, and you know you’re staring a bit too hard, but he’s just so...so... _gorgeous_. And when he’s not spewing vulgar insults your way, he’s almost likeable.

_No. Don’t. Do not start...feeling things. Not again._ You chastise yourself. _It’s just proximity. You spend a lot of time around him. Remember your last trainwreck of a relationship._

Mammon looks up in the sudden quiet, locking eyes with you. His attempts at cleaning up himself pause as his sapphire eyes bore into yours, drawing you into their depths.

_Don’t fall for another asshole…_

There is a familiar tension building between you two, a spark of heat that sets off warnings in the back of your mind, and you need to stop it before it becomes a blaze of something that’s out of your control.

_Don’t fall for a demon, [N], it’ll only end with you in flames._

_Literally._

Mammon’s cheeks tint a soft pink. You inwardly whine at the unfairness of your life, but you break eye contact, dragging your eyes away and looking around the room again. You hear Mammon sigh and ignore it, asking again, “Where are your brothers?”

“Why should I know?” Mammon growls, his surly attitude returning. You peak at him, he’s brushing the last of the crumbs from his clothes, a scowl dragging his eyebrows down low. He finishes and settles back against his chair, not looking at you and fidgeting with a fork. “They’re probly headed fer class, and as usual leaving me here to babysit the worm.”

You grimace, though you school your expression into something unreadable as he gazes coolly at you. You refuse to acknowledge the pinch of hurt you feel as the wall drops between you again.

You dig around for something to say, anything to dispel the atmosphere that’s now tense for different reasons. You remember your little adventure from last night and the confrontation with Lucifer.

“Um, hey. What’s up in the attic?”

Mammon glares at you and looks away. “Why should I tell ya anythin’?”

You sigh, resigned to being at the top of his shit list once again. “Mammon.”

“Ya know?” He starts. “Information isn’t free. Ya want somethin’, then I gotta get somethin’ in return.”

You rub at your eyes in irritation wondering why you even bother. “And what would you like, Mammon?” You ask with exasperation.

“What else? Money.”

You sigh again, he knows full well you’re broke. “I don’t have any money,” you answer through gritted teeth.

“Well I guess you won’t be gettin’ any information then.”

There is a headache starting behind your right eye, it’s name is Mammon. You clamp your mouth shut, refusing to lower yourself further by Mammon’s immaturity. You get to your feet, intending to leave. It’s day three in Hell and negativity is starting to get to you. You’re stuck in this place, for better or worse, and you’d like to find some balance, to stop feeling on edge and...and to have a friend. It’s frustrating when your only interactions consist of being insulted or ignored.

_Oh_ , it hits you, _I’m really lonely_ . Well, not _lonely_ so much as feeling utterly alone. Even though there is another human in Devildom, you’re still all by yourself. Not even the human souls that wander around make you feel better, though you wouldn’t say you’re too interested in getting to know anyone who lived a life bad enough to get condemned to Hell in the first place.

“Why do ya want to know?”

You turn, looking at Mammon. His expression for once is carefully blank, but you’ve lost any desire to fight him anyway. You shrug. “Just curious. Lucifer seemed awfully protective of whatever’s up there.”

Mammon stares at you for a moment, his eyes glassy, lost in thought. When his focus returns, he says, “I don’t know what he’s hidin’. Lucifer keeps a lot of secrets.” He shrugs. “It’s better not to dig too deep into his business unless ya want to end up dead.”

You narrow your eyes at him. He tried to convince you to bribe him with money for information he never had. You almost want to call him out on it, but it’s not worth it. Mammon is the Greed God and his behavior is unsurprising. Still, despite his warning, you’re still curious. However, if Lucifer is hiding something, it’ll take an accomplice to get past him.

“I’m sorry, Mammon. I know you’re afraid of Lucifer, I didn’t mean to put you in an awkward position.”

Mammon’s eye twitches. “I’m not afraid of that cocksucker.”

You shrug and turn away, rising from your chair and struggling to contain your grin. If you’ve learned anything in three days, it’s that Mammon is scared of his older brother and doesn’t like having that fear thrown in his face.

“Sure, Mammon,” you reply, heading toward the door. 

“I’m not afraid of Lucifer! Don’t get it wrong, I just think digging around in his business is pointless,” he hollers at your back. You keep quiet and keep walking, grabbing your school bag on your way and making for the front door. You smile when you hear Mammon’s footsteps hurrying after you.

“Why do you care anyway?” He says when he catches you.

“I said I’m curious.” It’s not quite the truth, but Mammon doesn’t need to know that. You’re not quite sure _why_ you aren’t completely honest with him. Why you aren’t telling about the cries for help you heard last night. And, also, that some masochistic, rebellious part of you doesn’t like being threatened by a Prince of Hell and wants to know just on principle.

Outside, the light is fading quickly, and when you look toward the sky you see dark grey clouds on the horizon. The sickly yellow daylight of their world is getting quickly swallowed up by an impending storm.

It almost feels like a foreshadowing; like something is coming and you’re wholly unprepared for whatever it is. You take a shakey breath.

“If ya wanna know what’s up there, then yer gonna have to git rid of Lucifer,” Mammon tells you. You turn your head to look up at him. He walks beside you, hands stuffed in his pockets, and gazes back at you.

“Duh, Mammon. The problem is _how_ ,” you say, not sure what brought his change of attitude on and growing more used to it every time it happens.

He snickers and shakes his head. “FYI, I may not know what’s up there, and I don’t really care, but I think I may know how to help.”

You raise a suspicious eyebrow at him. “And why are you so eager to help me now?”

He snorts and rolls his eyes. “What makes ya think this has anythin’ to do with ya? Maybe I jus’ wanna mess with big brother?”

You look straight ahead, biting at your lip to keep from giggling. “Okay then, Double-oh-seven, what’s the plan?”

He shoots a confused gaze at you. “What’s Double-oh-seven?”

That does make you giggle. “It’s a movie reference. It’s about a spy.”

You look at him just as he turns away, staring straight ahead, but his cheeks are pink again and he’s got a small, soft smile on his face. Your pulse stutters and there is heat on your own cheeks.

_Shit_.

“Just meet me outside Levi’s room after school,” he says, shoving playfully at you with an elbow. It makes the blush that started on your face intensify. Mammon makes it so hard to completely hate him.

You don’t let yourself think too hard about it, preferring to just enjoy the truce between you, and you shove back at him. He grins at you, all pearly white teeth and sparkling eyes.

_I’m so fucked_.

As promised, Mammon meets you outside Levi’s room after class.

You’re leaning against the wall beside Levi’s bedroom door when Mammon arrives and you ask, “So you planning to finally tell me what we need Levi for?” 

Mammon stops in front of you so you’re basically toe-to-toe, which puts him right in your personal bubble. He’s relaxed with hands in his pockets, grinning at you without the spiteful air he commonly keeps in your presence. His uniform is rumpled, as usual, with his shirt untucked and tie loosely knotted. You hate how devilishly attractive the sloppy way he’s dressed makes him look, and you have to force yourself not to blatantly check him out. 

It’s been like this all day, though. Despite the rocky start to your morning, he’s actually been a bit more mellow, spewing less insults at you. He waited for you between classes, which is new, because unless Lucifer physically threatens him, Mammon is usually chasing witches. He even sat with you during lunch, chatting and playfully teasing the whole time, though he avoided telling you his reasons for involving Levi in your plans.

It was actually a nice day, the nicest you’ve had since arriving in Devildom, and you’re not sure what’s changed between you two, but you’re not going to complain either. Yet, it does make your determination to hate Mammon very difficult, something made extremely obvious by the way your heart thumps behind your breast and your palms begin to sweat. A part of you wishes he would continue being the dick you know him to be, if only so this _whatever_ it is will shrivel up and die.

“Okay so,” he starts, his blue eyes sparkling with mischief, “if ya wanna get up the stairs then ya gotta distract Lucifer’s anal retentive pucker.”

The comment about his brother makes you chuckle with amusement, and Mammon’s grin widens. 

“That much is obvious,” you tell him, and he smirks back at you.

_I seriously need to have a little me time_ , you think as you throb between your legs. The cocksure expression forces the blood in your body to rush to a central... _southern_ area, your panties growing damp. _When’s the last time I had a little fun on my own?_

“Anyway,” he continues, “ya know that series Levi’s so into...the um... _Seven Ways to Get Rich Quick_ …?” He pauses considering. “No, that’s not it. The...Seven something…” he taps his lips in thought.

“ _The Tale of the Seven Lords_?” You supply, stifling any laughter for his airheadedness. 

“Oh yeah! That one!” He replies with a snap of his fingers. His smile is blinding and his excitement shines in his blue eyes, and you have to look away because your blushing and _fuck_! You really need to hurry this along. 

_What the hell is wrong with me today?!_

“Okay so, Lucifer is obsessed with the soundtrack, right? Like, why is a total mystery, but that’s not the point. The point is Levi owns a vinyl copy of it and if ya want to get past him, ya need it.”

He looks so proud of his idea. Truthfully, you’re impressed because, and let’s face it, Mammon is a lot of things, but top of the class isn’t one of them. However, his idea has some merit.

“Okay,” you say, thinking about everything you’ve learned so far. “I get the record, I get passed your brother. Are you gonna help me?”

Mammon sighs and rolls his eyes but it lacks any of the bothered irritation that coated all your previous interactions. “If yer gonna twist my arm about it, sure.”

You bite at your bottom lip and look away. This is becoming a problem, but you need Mammon right now.

“Okay, let’s talk to Levi.”

“Alright! Mission Impossible is a go!”

“Wait! I thought you didn’t know that reference.”

Mammon turns toward Levi’s door and looks over his shoulder at you right before he knocks. “What reference?”

Okay, you’re confused, but you don’t get a chance to clarify anything because Levi’s voice sounds through the door.

“What’s the pass phrase?”

Mammon glares at the door, indignant, and says quietly, “Tha what?!” Then he knocks harder. “Open the door, dipshit, we need to talk to ya!”

“Go away Mammon! You’re too noisy and I’m at the best part of Ruri Hana!”

Mammon glares at you then, but the heat in it is not _for_ you. “Well, this is going ta be a lot harder than it should be.”

“Well now, if it isn’t the pair that everyone is talking about.”

Both Mammon and you turn toward the voice. Solomon stands a few feet away, still in his school uniform and grinning at the two of you like he just discovered the best kept secret in Devildom.

“Oh hey, Solomon,” Mammon greets. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Solomon laughs. “Nothing, just that you two are the talk of the town. The dim witted demon and his human who managed to trick him into a contract by letting her discover his greatest weakness.”

Mammon snorts, grinning, then what was said processes and he growls. “Hey!”

“Hello, Solomon,” you interject, trying to mollify the situation.

“Hello, [N].”

“What the hell ya doin’ here anyway?” Mammon barks, glaring at the other human. You have to admit, it feels kind of nice not to be on the other end of Mammon’s ire.

Solomon smiles placidly. “Levi invited me,” he says.

“What?! Why?!” Mammon snaps.

Solomon doesn’t answer. Instead he walks up to the door and knocks lightly. In the few breaths between the knock and Levi’s acknowledgement, you can’t help but compare Mammon and him.

Solomon is so much more put together, and not just appearance wise. He’s barely a finger or two taller than Mammon, but just as lithe. He’s pretty, but Mammon is beautiful in an ethereal and darkly tempting way, like his beauty serves a purpose to draw in unsuspecting victims who gladly get swallowed up by him. However, Solomon is way classier, even the few times you’ve met him you can tell he is refined compared to Mammon’s wildness. Like someone from noble birth.

But they do have something in common; a strange darkness emanates from both. Mammon, like a true demon however, carries his vice in the open. But Solomon, like any self-respecting human, hides whatever deviance afflicting him behind well built walls of propriety. And that makes you more wary of him.

“What’s the pass phrase?” Comes again from somewhere behind the closed door. Solomon and Levi engage in a weird back-and-forth that ends in the other human waving goodbye as he passes the threshold.

“What the fuck?” Mammon bitches, his expression affronted. He shakes his head a second later. “Whatever. They gave it away so we’ll just do the same.” Mammon turns to you expectantly.

You raise an eyebrow at him. “Why me?”

“Yer the one who wanted this,” he says, rolling his eyes at you.

“Ugh...fine.” You knock at the door.

“What’s the pass phrase?” Levi sounds amused from the other side, but you attempt to repeat Solomon’s words, but are rudely interrupted.

“It was right!” Mammon yells at his brother through two inches of heavy oak.

“The pass phrase is updated routinely to keep out unwanted guests. Come back when you actually have some knowledge of TSL.”

Mammon glares at the door. “A one-time pass phrase. Seriously?” He grumbles. Before you can add your own commentary, Mammon is dragging you down the hall. He stops when you’re out of ear shot and says, “Okay look, it seems as if Levi’s feelin’ especially difficult, which is gonna make our job just that much harder. Solomon was able to gain access by proving he’s as much a nerd as my brother, which means yer gonna have ya do tha same.”

You just stare back at Mammon wide-eyed, trying to process what he said. “Which means exactly what?” Mammon sighs. “Yer gonna have to watch the series,duh. It looks like a movie marathon for ya.”

“You’re kidding,” you scoff. “And how long will this marathon be?”

“I hear it’s something like twelve hours.”

You sigh. As inconvenient as it is, it’s not like you haven’t marathoned a movie series before. You can think of two off the top of your head that you’re fond of and those are just as long. Maybe it won’t be so bad.

“Okay,” you say with a shrug. “But you’re gonna watch it with me.”

Mammon narrows his eyes and scoffs. “Is that an order?” 

You waver. On some level you thought he’d jump at the chance, but you’re not so sure at this moment and a small, _very_ small, part of you is disappointed. But, you can make him anyway, so there’s that.

“Yeah, it is.”

Mammon glares at you. “Well, there go my plans. Fine, this weekend, your room.”

“Fine.”

“Fine.”

“Good.”

“Wonderful.”

🕸🕸🕸

  
  


Friday evening comes around and finds you waiting in your room for Mammon to show up. A part of you figures he'll stand you up, and that part of you also feels relief at the idea. But the other part, the part ruled by your id, the part that is horny and constantly under temptation and surrounded by delectable eye candy (no matter how infuriating), is hoping Mammon comes.

After that afternoon outside Levi’s room, you’d made sure to try and alleviate the...tension that night, alone in your room. You forced yourself not to imagine any _specific_ person, focusing on the sensations alone caused by your trained fingers. You didn’t need the complications that would certainly arise from fantasizing about _people_. However, while you found satisfaction in the moment of orgasm, it didn’t last, your thirst for hands that aren’t your own simmering constantly below your skin.

It’s funny how those responsible for transporting all your personal items into Hell managed somehow to overlook _Henry_ , the vibrator affectionately named after your favorite actor. And it’s not like you can ask to retrieve it, because, yeah, no way are you approaching _Diavolo_ about this and you're broke so you can’t purchase a new one. It’s unfortunate, however, because it would help so much to stuff yourself with something more than a couple of tiny fingers. Maybe that would help.

Probably not.

Tonight you’ve straightened up your room in nervous anticipation, trying not to dwell on the year-long forced dry spell. The hardest part was figuring out what to wear that was comfortable and was not you trying to look _appealing_ in any way. You end up settling for a pair of thin, ankle length sweats that hug your hips and ass comfortably, and an equally thin, graphic tank top that says, _I_ **_lick_ ** _the salt,_ **_swallow_ ** _the tequila, and_ **_suck_ ** _the lime._ Of course you wear a bra underneath and one of your trademark cardigans, so yeah, comfy but not eye catching. You also spend a little time arranging your hair so that it isn’t in your face, and put on a little tinted lip gloss, but only because your lips get dry easily. All in all you are satisfied you don’t look like you are being an attention whore. And when done, you situate yourself on the couch and occupy yourself with your phone and wait.

It isn’t long until you hear voices outside your room and an impatient knock on your door.

“Yeah, come in,” you call, gazing over your shoulder as the door opens and Mammon walks in followed by Beel, which is unexpected. You have to measure your breathing, chewing on your bottom lip as your eyes rove over them. You’ve been here nearly a week now and seeing any of the brothers out of uniform still catches you off guard. Mammon is dressed in his usual black t-shirt and distressed jeans, while Beel is wearing a pair of joggers and black t-shirt, like the jock he is. The truth is, dressed in casual wear, you wouldn’t know these guys are ancient, evil beings. If it wasn’t for the unnatural shade of eye color and the general air of darkness that surrounds them, you’d never know they aren’t just a group of regular twenty-something guys.

And that’s why your growing attraction to Mammon is so problematic. It’s easy to forget who, and what, he is when he struts into your room and flops down beside you on the couch, head tilted back and eyes closed, looking and smelling like a meal. Your logic and reasoning struggle to maintain control against your sexually frustrated hindbrain.

This weekend is going to be torture.

“What?” Mammon gripes, rolling his head to look at you, his blue, blue eyes questioning. When you don’t say anything he sighs in irritation, sitting forward and tossing a plastic bag on the coffee table. “I can’t believe I’m stuck watchin’ lame movies all weekend with the human scum.”

You would be offended, except you’re beginning to notice a subtle change of tone in his mockery. It doesn’t hold half the bite it once did.

“Aww, poor Mammon,” you say, flicking his ear, which earns you an affronted glare. “Did the baby have to cancel his date?”

“Yeah I did, actually,” he replies with a frown. You tense as you try not to react to his admission, refusing to acknowledge the sting of hurt and jealousy.

“Well, you’re more than welcome to leave if my company is so repulsive,” you tell him, trying like hell to sound indifferent. You really shouldn’t be bothered, you’ve already told yourself that whatever you may be feeling in regard to the demon wouldn’t work out anyway. Especially if it’s one-sided.

Still fucking bothers you, though.

“I can hang out with Beel,” you add, turning to the redhead and smiling. Beel has taken a seat on the floor next to you, leaning back against the couch. He’s so damn tall even sitting and the breadth of his shoulders is ridiculous. You’re sitting on the couch above him and you still feel tiny. He’s currently digging through another set of plastic bags and he looks up when he hears his name, smiling at you. 

Beel is very unlike his brothers. It took him the least amount of time to treat you like a person, more concerned as he is about his next meal. Beel, you have learned, is a gentle giant, and it’s hard to imagine him an inherently evil being when he smiles so big his lavender eyes crinkle at the corners. If you weren’t ultimately afraid he might bite your hand off, you’d pat him on the head.

Mammon snorts. “Puh-lease, he’s just here for the food as usual. Isn’t that right, Beel?”

Beel looks between you too, the innocence behind his gaze is so believable. “Where there are movies, there is popcorn and nachos and lots of other goodies.”

Mammon waves a hand at him, looking at you, wordlessly saying _see I told you_.

“I completely agree, Beel,” you tell him with a giggle, ignoring Mammon’s glare.

“I’m fine, I already committed, so it’s whatever,” Mammon growls.

“Never stopped you before,” Beel replies, taking a couple of boxes of popcorn out of the bags. “I’m gonna make some popcorn and get drinks. You want anything, [N]?”

He rises from the floor, your eyes trailing his impossibly tall frame. “Um, yeah, whatever you're having, Beel.”

_There are too many distractions_.

Beel nods and turns to the door and Mammon squawks in offense.

“Oi! Whatta ‘bout me, asshole?!”

Beel barely glances back at him. “Get your own snacks,” he answers and is gone.

“Fucker,” Mammon pouts.

You two are left in awkward silence for a moment. Mammon pulls off his jacket and tosses it in the chair a few feet away and sets his sunglasses on the table. You fidget with your phone, picking at the seam with a nail as you deliberately try not to steal glances of his toned biceps.

“Nice shirt,” Mammon mutters. 

You look down with a blush because it’s more suggestive than you want to admit and now you’re admonishing yourself for choosing it. 

Desperate to ease the tense atmosphere and distract yourself, you ask, “Have you ever tried tequila?”

Mammon gives you a look that implies you’re an idiot. “Ya mean Latin Koolaid?”

You stare at him, bug-eyed. “Wha-it’s not _Koolaid_. It’s hard liquor,” you correct him.

“No, it’s barely sixty percent alcohol and tastes like shit. The alcohol in Devildom would kill a human with one shot and still tastes better.”

“Oh, well…” you’re not sure how to answer that. You turn your attention to your phone, surrendering to the fact that this weekend is gonna suck.

“Maybe I’ll take ya out to The Fall one night. Show ya what real alcohol is.”

You still, staring blankly at your phone. “You just said the alcohol would kill-“

“I don’t plan to let ya drink the hard stuff! Geez.” Mammon is quiet for a moment, then he says, “Less potent shit exists and it’s still good.” Mammon anxiously fiddles with his hands in his lap.

“What’s The Fall?” You ask.

Mammon shrugs, frowning. “It’s the most popular nightclub in Devildom. I work there.”

The fact Mammon has a job is the most astonishing bit of information you’ve heard since you arrived, but you don’t comment, choosing instead to maintain the tentative civility between you.

“Sounds fun,” you say quietly.

Mammon finally looks up at you, tension easing in his shoulders and the small glimmer of happiness returning to his blue eyes. “Yeah?”

You shrug, a small grin pulling up the corners of your lips. “Yeah. Who doesn’t like dancing?”

“Yeah,” Mammon replies.

Just then your door opens and Beel returns with a literal bucket of popcorn and two large glasses filled with something fizzy purple and smoking.

“I got snacks. Who’s ready for movies?”

It takes all weekend to watch the series, and you find it wasn’t near as bad as you thought it would be. In fact, as much as you hate to admit it, it was probably better than the Lord of the Rings, with better actors and graphics that are almost too realistic.

On Saturday you all had to start early in the afternoon because Mammon had to work that night, but you manage to finish up late Sunday evening. Beel even stayed to watch the whole series with you and Mammon.

The best part, however, was Mammon. While the story was captivating, you did, unfortunately, find yourself distracted by Mammon’s...endearing reactions. The way he gasped when the Lord of Fools tried to rescue his beloved from the ice and the way he cried when the Lord of Fools tried to help his brother’s people by sending food that ended up spoiling after a severe storm. Watching Mammon was exquisite pain, and you found yourself trying to comfort him whenever he was overcome.

Beel wasn’t as reactive, but hanging out with him was fun, nonetheless. He always brought so many snacks and offered to share, even if he did eat your portion when you weren’t fast enough. It made you giggle to watch him squirm and eye your uneaten popcorn or whatever snack you had at the time.

By the time the end credits rolled on the last movie, you had officially bonded with both demons, each of you letting down your walls as jokes became frequent and touching more comfortable. In fact, you sat now, propped up on one armrest, your legs entwined with Mammon’s as he leaned against the other, unconsciously drawing patterns on your calf with the tips of his fingers. Beel sits on the floor beneath you while you play with the silky strands of his copper colored hair.

“That was better than I thought it’d be,” Mammon says, stretching with a wide yawn. 

“Mmm…” replies Beel, searching for any leftover snack scraps. “I thought the scene where the Lord of Corruption sent a hezrou into that village to kill Henry was pretty awesome.”

“Right?” Mammon agreed. “I still can’t believe they managed to get that beast to behave. He could’ve easily destroyed a lot more than that village.”

You look between them, listening to their conversation. “He decimated an entire village for one person, he didn’t look behaved,” you say. “It looked so real, too. The way he ripped that one villager in half with his claws, blood and guts went flying everywhere? That was so gross but also so cool. I could have done without the graphic child deaths, but it was a really well done scene regardless. Had me on the edge of my seat when Henry was cornered in the cavern.”

Mammon laughs, “Believe me, his handlers definitely hadda short leash on him-“

“And the literal destruction is what makes scenes like that so good,” Beel adds, grinning happily at you.

However, you pause to consider their words. “Literal…” you repeat slowly. “You mean movie magic, right?”

Mammon and Beel just stare at you blankly and you can see they don’t really understand your meaning. 

“If ya mean how well they spelled the human souls, giving them corporeal form as villagers, yes. That’s movie magic, technically. But the hezrou is a real demon, barely sentient and created to kill his enemies with impunity,” Mammon explains.

Your jaw drops as your eyes widen in shock.

“They probably captured the hezrou, tortured him to make sure he was angry enough, and for the purpose of the scene, kept the information from the villagers that they were all about to die horribly in order to preserve realism in their reactions,” Beel adds.

“Realism...so all those people were once... _alive_ ?!” You are _appalled_. “All those...those...children.”

Mammon makes a dismissive noise. “Were fake. Or well, magicked so they appear as children. Human children never end up in hell and few demons would offer their own offspring for sacrifice unless well compensated.”

“So we spent twelve hours watching people _actually_ die in various horrific ways? For entertainment?” You cannot wrap your head around this. It’s beyond reprehensible. To treat people as expendable and sacrifice them for entertainment and profit…

“Oh c’mon, [N]. Don’t act like ya didn’ enjoy it,” Mammon laughs. “I mean, I’m not much for pointless violence myself, but for television and movies? It’s pardonable. Besides, it’s not like humans haven’t been doin’ the same thing for centuries, where do ya think we got the inspiration from? At least we use currently dead people, unlike the Romans who threw perfectly healthy humans into arenas with a knife and expected them to protect themselves against lions and bears and shit.”

You gape at him.

“He’s got you there, [N],” Beel says, and you turn to look at him. Sweet, gentle Beel who’s defending the pointless death of hundreds for a movie. Okay, well second death. 

“The only difference,” Mammon continues. “Is that we don’ hide behind false morality. Money is money, who cares how ya get it.” Mammon boops you on the nose, but you lack the ability to respond. His philosophy has left you speechless and struggling between his logic and your conscience.

“Alright, I’m out,” Mammon says with another yawn. “Let’s do this again, sometime. It was fun.” Mammon grabs his things and throws a big smile at you, waving on his way out of the door.

“Me too, I’m gonna raid the kitchen,” Beel says, rising and gathering up all the garbage. He pats you on the head and leaves. Then you’re left with the unexpected existential crisis that is dropped in your lap.

It _was_ a good series, though.

🕸🕸🕸

_Jesus Christ!_

Mammon walks into his room, slinging his jacket into the open air and not caring where it lands. He throws himself on his stomach on his couch and sighs into the cushion.

This past weekend had been a lot of fun, surprisingly, but had also been more torture then he had planned to endure. That was the reason for his “date” this weekend, he needed to work off some excess tension. But no, you _had_ to order his presence, and now he’s more worked up than ever.

It’s been a long time since he wanted to fuck a human.

All weekend he suffered as your clothes got skimpier and your smiles more frequent. It was something he hadn’t counted on; how in one weekend you seemed to loosen up and the animosity seemed to dissipate. Then you got all... _touchy_ . It started when he became emotional during a scene in the movie. He’s a sensitive guy, so sue him. Anyway, you seemed to be amused by his pain, and startled giggling, but you also wiped away a stray tear with your gentle fingers, the look in your eyes soft and fond. Definitely _not_ a look he thought would be directed at him.

After that, there was barely a moment when you weren’t touching him in some way, whether it was sitting beside him on the couch or making trips to the kitchen. It was frustrating.

And what was worse was how you didn’t balk when he started returning the touches. Like this evening as you both shared your couch, your legs draped over him, smooth and silky like satin. It was impossible _not_ to touch you, all that glorious skin just begging his hands to caress it. So he did, and you didn’t punch him.

The thing is, it’s confusing. Because it’s been one week since you got here and for four of those days he’s been pretty sure you’d rather set yourself on fire than touch him or have him touch you. Yet, something has changed, and well, Mammon likes it.

But there is a problem—a _big_ problem. That being Lucifer and his mandate against any fornicating with the fragile human, or anything that could potentially harm DiAVoLo’s _glorious_ plans. Fucking killjoy.

Mammon sighs again. He’s so horny, and at this point, the witch he was going to fuck, or any witch for that matter, didn’t sound as appealing as getting you naked and on your back.

Maybe he should hire a succubus. 

Mammon rolls over and without looking, waves a hand at the large movie screen hanging on his wall, going immediately to his favorite porn channel. He turns his head, finding one of his go-to demons currently stuffing themselves with an impossibly large dragon dildo, but Mammon just stares blankly, uninterested.

Nothing sounds appealing, but there is an itch he needs to scratch and it won’t let up.

He looks up at his ceiling, biting his lip. He’s been good so far. Better than Lucifer gives him credit for, but there’s only so much self-control he can maintain before he loses his shit. Lucifer should know his impossible expectations can only keep him grounded for so long.

And what’s it going to hurt if you don’t know about it, right? Everyone gets what they want then; Lucifer gets to impress his Big Daddy Wet Dream, you get to finish up your year none the wiser, and Mammon…

Well, Mammon gets new material to fap to.

Barely making up his mind, Mammon waves his hand again and turns his head. His room shifts and blurs, until it refocuses, and the mirage of your room is overlapping his own, only the part of the couch he’s sitting on completely visible. 

You’re just coming out of your bathroom, a little smile playing at the corner of your lips, humming quietly to yourself. You’ve lost the atrocious sweater and your trim waist is more noticeable. You’ve also discarded the bra, and Mammon thanks the Devil himself for the sight of your perky nipples tenting the thin fabric of your tiny t-shirt, pebbling against the cool air of your room. The tiny shorts you were wearing all night have also disappeared and now you dressed only in that little t-shirt and a small pair of cotton panties. His eyes lid, cock twitching at the sight, the lack of clothing leaving very little to his very good imagination.

Mammon snaps his fingers and the lights in his room blink out, bringing everything into HD clarity. He smirks as you pass through the couch inches from him, your human senses unable to detect his presence. He sits up, relaxing against the back of the couch, legs spread, and more content than necessary just to watch you prepare for bed. He’s alone in his room, so he lets himself smile at the vision of you moving about, doing the things you do.

Eventually you turn out all the lights and crawl into bed. The darkness presents no issue for him as he can see in the dark better than a cat.

For a while you just shuffle around in bed, tossing and turning, restless, before huffing in irritation. You kick off your blankets like a spoiled child, digging your palms into your closed eyes, and grumbling to yourself. Mammon chuckles, bites his lip. You aren’t even doing anything in the least bit alluring, but you have a natural appeal that even rolling around in your bed because you can’t sleep makes Mammon’s cock twitch. 

You’re so mesmerizing; you’re a bitch, but so playful, and with a laugh that could put his witches to shame. Mammon likes...that about you. He wishes that whatever this is between you was already acknowledged. If that were the case, he would have already appeared in your room to calm your nerves and work the stress from your body. He would make sure you slept soundly.

Unfortunately, what he was hoping to see doesn’t appear to be happening, so he decides to turn you off and go to bed, content to deal with everything tomorrow. But just as he raises his hand, you sigh, and the sound, the inflection in it, stills him.

You draw your hands from your face, one resting at your neck, the other trailing lightly down your chest where you cup one breast. Mammon’s mouth goes dry, this couldn’t be more fucking perfect. He gets comfortable, spreading his arms along the back of the couch and sits back to enjoy the show.

You pinch at your nipples through your shirt, tugging lightly. Your breath hitches and Mammon’s cock jumps. He licks his lips.

Your other hand drags down your neck and wraps around the other tit, both now kneading and plucking at your nipples as your breathing steadily increases. You abandon your breasts to shove your bare, warm hands beneath the cotton t-shirt. You bite at your bottom lip then gasp, and Mammon reaches between his legs to palm himself through his jeans, his cock fattening.

You softly sigh, pleasuring yourself with your tits again, and Mammon wonders if you’d be just as responsive with his lips wrapped around your nipple. Your legs rub together, your hips twitching, your desire for friction in your core building. One hand leaves your chest, fingertips making nonsensical patterns down your ribs and along your tummy, circling your belly button before continuing south. Mammon can easily imagine his tongue doing the same, tasting the salt of your skin as you arch into his touch the same way you arch into your own, eager to discover all the ways he can pleasure you.

He’s not Asmo, but he does have the benefit of eons under his belt and a vault of knowledge of how to bring someone to heights of pleasure they didn’t know existed. 

When you reach the mound of soft flesh right above your pussy, you squeeze your legs, pressing the palm of your hand into it while your other hand continues to molest your tit. Mammon groans and silently urges you to remove your panties. You don’t, though. Your legs spread just a bit so you can fit your hand between them, your fingertips tickling your cunt over the material. You stop to circle your clit, gasping at the sensitivity, and Mammon’s cock grows stiff. 

After a few moments enjoying the way your fingers play your clit, you raise one leg, bent at the knee and trail your fingers down the inside edge of the panties, pulling them aside enough to let your finger pass. Mammon gets a quick glimpse of lips slightly shiny with your slick before his view is obstructed by your hand, and he groans long and low, unbuttoning and unzipping his jeans. His cock presses against the tough material, already throbbing. 

Just that one glance has his imagination running wild with the thought of his tongue replacing your fingers. He’d pin that leg back with one hand and hook a finger in the leg of your panties with the other. He’d pull it aside and run the tip of his tongue up and down the seam of your lips, feeling you shudder and twitch as you beg him to enter you. He would, eventually, pressing between the wet folds and flattening his tongue so he could lick you in long stripes like he would with an ice cream cone. He would wrap his lips around your clit and gently suck, flicking it with his tongue as you fist the sheets, your thighs shaking in his grasp. And when you couldn’t take anymore of his teasing, he’d sink his tongue into you, deep, and drink everything you had to give him.

On the screen you’ve sunk your finger into your hole, your legs falling open wide. He pulls himself out through the slit in his underwear, timing his strokes along his shaft to the thrust of your fingers, moaning your name. You’re so sexy and it’s driving him crazy having to sit here and watch you rather than be there in your bed being the cause of those beautiful, breathless sounds.

You remove your hand from between your legs and shove your shirt up above your breasts, just under your chin. Mammon whines, your perfect tits sitting out in the open and making him drool. He wants to suck them so bad, kiss around the soft mounds, tease your nipples with his teeth, lick around them and taste your skin. He knows you smell good, you get close enough to him often enough that the scent of you clouds his head. But he also bets you taste as good as you smell. 

You continue to knead at your tit, your other hand returning to your cunt, but this time you shove your hand beneath the waistband of your panties. Your legs fall open all the way and Mammon watches you fuck yourself, groaning at the teasing view. He wants to see all of you, wants to watch as your fingers sink into your wet hole over and over. But despite the lack of view, there is something tantalizing about knowing what’s happening, even if he can’t see it completely.

You moan, your hips coming up off the bed to roll against your hand. You’re close all ready, he can tell. He tightens his grip around his hard cock, palming the precum beading at the tip to ease the friction and really starts fucking into his hand. He grasps at the back of the couch with his free hand, digging in his heels so he can thrust up each time he brings his hand down, his eyes rolling.

“Hn...nooo!” You whine so quiet he thinks he misheard. Mammon blinks, focusing back on you.

“N-nooo...sto-op…”

Is this...a rape fantasy? What the hell are you thinking about?

“D-don’t think of h-him,” you whisper to yourself, your eyes closed and brows wrinkled as your hand speeds up. “Ahhh,” you gasp. Digging your heels into the mattress gives you leverage as you roll your hips into your hand. Your other has abandoned your tit to grip at the pillow under your head.

“Fuck,” Mammon growls into the darkness. “Who’re your thinkin’ of, [N].”

“Fuck,” you curse, frustration evident in the strained tone of your voice. “Please,” you beg of no one.

“C’mon, [N], say my name and cum. C’mon. C’monc’monc’mon.” Mammon tugs his cock hard and fast, his ass clenching and thighs starting to burn.

“Mmmm…” you continue to whine, panting in your own right. You arch your back, your feet rising off the bed, your thighs clenching around your arm. “Shit!”

“Oh hell,” Mammon half groans, half whines. His orgasm is quickly approaching, but he’s trying to time it with yours, except your holding back. Why?

Then Mammon feels a release like the pop of a bubble, and whatever was keeping you from your orgasm disappears, allowing the wave of intense pleasure to ravage you.

Mammon’s eyes blow wide as he watches your face slacken and your jaw drop, the most lascivious moan falling from your bitten lips.

“HoooohMam-mon...huh uh Beel!”

Oh, well, he hadn’t been expecting to hear Beel’s name, but it didn’t matter. The moment the first syllable of his own name burst from your lips he’s cumming all over himself, broken cries of your name uttered harshly in the dark as he milks himself through the shockwave of pleasure.

He sags against his couch about the same time as you collapse against your bed, panting hard, his thighs still twitching and cock still throbbing. He watches you, his eyes lidded and lazy, as you recover from your own post-orgasm bliss. 

There’s something there, inside him. A heavy throb of feeling, deep in the recesses of his being. A feeling he’d forgotten long ago, but in the vulnerable, post-orgasmic setting is whispering at him. He can hear it, but he refuses to acknowledge it.

The Great Mammon doesn’t feel _things_. Not for anyone, and especially not for weakling humans such as you. Does Mammon want you? Hell, yes. He’ll fuck you until the End of Days and beyond. But all you’ll ever be is is a good piece of ass. His heart belongs to Goldie and no one else. 

No one.

Mammon watches you rise from your bed, presumably to go clean yourself off. It reminds him of the cum drying on his hand, his dick, and his clothes, but he can’t stop watching you. You get to the bathroom and turn the light on, the harsh glare after the darkness making him squint as it halo’s you. Just before you enter you half turn, one hand on the doorframe, and your face scrunched in confusion, like you're looking for something. Your eyes make contact with him though he knows without a doubt you're not seeing him. But Mammon can’t stop the thud of his heart or the way his chest tightens or the shiver that envelops him. Then you disappear behind the closed door.

_I don’t fall in love_ , he tells himself as he stares at your afterimage burned into his retinas. 

_I won’t fall in love with you. I’ll never believe that lie again._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and kudos are definitely welcome. Believe it or not, all of your nice comments keep me working on this story above all others, even if I'm slow at it. Forewarning though, the next chapter has some not so nice stuff in it. Please be kind.


	6. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this chapter is short. 
> 
> It should be noted that I use character names as a device in fic. If I’m using the shorthand version of the demon’s name, it’s because the reader isn’t feeling threatened or is comfortable with that demon/person. If I’m using the full name it’s because the reader is scared or frustrated/pissed, or unfamiliar with that demon/person.
> 
> **CW**  
> Sexual assault ahead. If it seems to come out of nowhere, know that all will be explained at some point.
> 
> Please see end notes for more information.

You sit at your desk, eyes drooping. You should really be paying attention, but the topic is worse than dry and you had a late night. 

The memory of it makes you, as subtly as possible, look over your shoulder to Mammon who sits three seats back and to your right. He’s staring down at his notebook, absently tapping the eraser against the paper. You will never get used used to seeing a demon whose age is unknown to you sitting at a school desk like any regular student. 

The sight of him makes goosebumps rise across your skin, your stomach swooping as if you just hit the slope of a rollercoaster, and your heart beats like you’ve been shot with Cupid’s arrow, except it’s dipped in methamphetamine.

It’s not so bad, but it makes you morn for the days when you hated Mammon with every fiber of your being. How can you go from hating a guy to crushing on them in seven days?!

Mammon suddenly looks up locking eyes with you. Your heart freezes and the sweat chilling on your body makes you shudder. His blue eyes are intense, more than usual, like the setting sun in an evening sky. You don’t know what hidden thoughts are behind those eyes, and you wish you did. 

However, it’s what is happening in your head at the moment that concerns you. You face forward, heat in your cheeks. 

You caved last night. You had been good for several days, and then left alone after Mammon and Beel vacated your room, you end up thinking of them in less than innocent ways. 

And it had been _good_. You hadn’t gotten off like that in a while, which made it hard to feel any sort of guilt for allowing yourself to fantasize about touches and desirous looks that will never be directed at you, or the fact you used both Mammon and Beel in such a way. That was until the high wore off and then you just felt stupid.

Stupid because getting off to visions of being spit-roasted by two demons doesn’t ease your want, it just makes it infinitely worse and this much harder to put to rest. And stupid because you want to _fuck demons_!

Where is your head at lately?! It’s _sooo_ unfair! How are you supposed to remember you live with demons when it feels more like you live in a frat house and everyone is impossibly sexy?!

The expectation is unrealistic, especially since you’ll be living in this godforsaken shit hole for a whole year. What are you supposed to do? Take a vow of _chastity_ ?! You can’t stick a crackhead in a crackhouse and expect sobriety. And you are a young, sexually active female with fucking _needs_.

The bell rings, dragging your self-pitying ass from your self-pitying thoughts. You piddle around, taking your time to gather your things. Frustration seeps from your pores like sludge, you can feel it and the glances from other demons on your skin like a thin coat of tar and it’s affecting your mood. No one hides the smug and hungry looks thrown your way, your such small potatoes to them; no threat. These beings are infinite in their knowledge and a part of you unconsciously understands that your negative emotions are felt, like the aroma of a good meal. These are demons of vice and sin and they revel in the taint of this place on a living human soul.

Doesn’t make it any easier to control it all. But you have to get over it or this place will drive you crazy before the year ends. So, you take a breath, finding the determination to swallow the irritation and depressive aura, and just move on with your day. 

_Nine days down and three hundred-fifty six more to go._

Gazing around the classroom you notice that Mammon has disappeared. You try not to feel disappointed. It doesn’t matter that you both had grown friendlier over the past weekend, apparently.

You grit your teeth against another sigh and try to focus on something else. Like your mission to get up those stairs. Which reminds you of your confrontation with Levi at the house this morning and the resulting trivia challenge you basically manipulated him into, thank you Mammon. 

It’s not exactly a big deal, except that while you watched Levi’s favorite movies, you are by no means an expert in them. You aren’t sure _how_ you’re gonna win this, but you’re too stubborn to admit defeat before you even try. Mammon suggested finding something to make Levi jealous of, which seems almost impossible as winning a trivia match against a fanatic. Levi is the avatar of Envy, what could you possibly gain in the next twenty-four hours that could possibly give you an edge?

The rest of the day, between classes and boredom, you spend on the internet researching any and information you can about the series and taking notes you think might be beneficial.

You don’t really see Mammon the rest of the day except in passing. He’s even missing at dinner. And as you lay in bed that night, you desperately try not to imagine what—or _who—_ he might be doing at that moment. 

🕸🕸🕸

“Hey [N], I heard about your competition,” Satan says when you run into him on your way to your next class. The halls are jammed with other students and you should probably keep walking so you’re not late, but going to class is far less appealing than spending a few shorts minutes with the temperamental blonde.

“Oh, yeah,” you answer, hissing when another student bumps you as they pass. You glare at them and give them the finger as they smirk back at you over their shoulder. “I want to get into the attic and I need something from Levi to get past Lucifer.”

Satan chuckles and directs you to the side, near a wall, and Beel stands in front of you, both demons effectively shielding you from the flow of foot traffic. 

“Be careful,” says Beel, looking down at you, his expression anxious on your behalf. “If you’re determined to compete with Levi, know that if he gets too jealous you could lose your life.”

You smile up at Beel, raising your hand to rub lightly at his bicep in assurance. “I know, Beel. He already threatened me once. But I’m not too worried. Not with how everyone is so careful around me because of Diavolo.”

There is a slight curl to Beel’s lips but he doesn’t look entirely convinced, his expression still overwrought with concern.

You turn to look at Satan, still petting Beel, and find the avatar of Wrath watching you closely, his eyes jumping from the hand you have on Beel to your face and back. You clear your throat and drop your arm, feeling exposed beneath the intensity of his green eyes. He seems confused, his head slightly tilted, but then his expression shifts and a subtle grin tugs at one corner of his mouth for the briefest moments.

You feel like you’ve just been discovered sneaking around, which you _haven’t_ , but the current look being directed at you makes you nervous. 

A moment more passes and Satan says, “Let me give you another piece of advice, [N]. Talk to Simeon.”

“Simeon?” You ask, thankful Satan doesn’t call you out on anything. Not that there _is_ anything.

“Yeah,” he replies. “The DVD series is only up to seven, but the original books are up to eight. He would know about a ninth book that isn’t out yet, if you’re interested in that kind of thing.”

You nod eagerly, grinning at him. “Thanks! I’ll do that!” You wonder what kind of inside information Simeon might have that Satan would willingly send you to the angel.

“That’s it?” Satan asks, his expression bemused. “No questioning my intentions? No suspicions?”

You look at him, blinking a few times. “I mean, there are now. Are you?” You reply, and he smirks at you, but it’s more teasing than malicious. And what is it about these guys and the _smirking_ ?! Each one is unique and fucking _devastating_ , and it’s wrecking havoc on your already thinly controlled libido. For crying out loud, you’ve only had a handful of conversations with Satan and you still think you’d have to consider it if he asked you to sit on his face.

His grin gets just a little wider and he licks his lips, turning to walk away and saying over his shoulder, “Guess you’ll find out.”

What the fuck?!

“It would make no sense if you were!” You yell at him, balling your fists in frustration. 

“See you at the competition.” 

You snap your head around, almost forgetting Beel was still standing there. His face is blank, but his eyes are roving all over you. You can’t tell if he’s checking you out or concerned you might be broken, but his eyes eventually catch yours and your breath hitches. The unusual lavender of his eyes is a bit darker and his gaze intense in a way that makes it almost feel like hands on your skin.

“Y-you’ll be there?” You croak when you're finally able to draw breath and speak, though you're unable to break eye contact.

Beel nods, “Yeah, I think most of us will.”

“Oh, okay,” is all you manage to get out.

Beel gives you one last once over before turning away and heading off to his class. You lean against the wall, your legs a little shaky and breath coming a little faster than should be normal.

_What is going on with me?!_

In all your sexually active years, you have never been this horny for a bunch of guys. It was one thing when it was just Beel and Mammon, you spent an entire weekend with them and getting comfortable around them. You can forgive yourself of your thot-like nature in that situation, but now it’s _Satan_ ?! And not just him, but thinking back you remember a brief interaction with Asmo that morning that left your spine tingling though nothing explicit happened. You’d forgotten about it as the morning wore on, but now you can recall specifically how you throbbed between your legs with a brief “Good morning” and flirty smile. Which, by the way, makes no sense since you actively avoid many interactions with the Avatar of Lust. For _obvious_ reasons.

You take a deep breath and try to center yourself. Your behavior has been odd, yes, but you chalk it up to your temporary stay in the place from where all vice originates. You remind yourself that under normal circumstances you would not be like this, and with that semi-comforting thought you head to class.

🕸🕸🕸

You turn the corner, eyes locked on your phone screen as you review notes. You had hoped Mammon would be around to help, but no. As usual, Mammon has made himself scarce, and that both relieves and pisses you off.

So caught up in preparing for this asinine competition as you are, you don’t notice Asmo approaching and bump right into him. It’s enough of a shock that you briefly lose balance, dropping your phone and landing on your ass. 

You look up at him from the floor, your tailbone stinging, while he stares down at you with an amused smirk and peach colored eyes glinting with trouble. You would be unnerved, both at the gaze he’s leveling your way and the fact you are alone with him in an empty hallway, except you can’t help but stare up at him with a smidgeon if awe because he’s barely three inches taller than you and running into him felt like running into a wall.

He stretches out a hand, still smiling, and you quickly attempt at covering up the shock on your face, glancing at the proffered appendage with wariness. Asmo is one of the more unpredictable brothers, though you haven’t had many interactions with him, you’ve seen him with his brothers enough to gather this much. You never seem to know if he’s being genuine or not and there always seems to be some hidden motive behind his actions, unlike Beel or even Mammon. 

In the end you accept his help, once again floored by the strength behind his slender and more feminine appearance. He practically lifts you to your feet with one hand, and your body betrays you as you start to leak, throbbing with arousal. It’s sudden, especially since you worked so hard to get control of yourself since the events of this morning. Asmo smirks as if he knows exactly what you’re thinking. It’s unnerving.

“Why don’t we hang out more?” He says to you in that whiny tone he so often uses, catching you off guard with the unexpected and casual question.

“Um…” you’re not sure how to answer that. The truth doesn’t seem the way to go. As patient and indifferent the brothers may seem, you know they can be dangerous if provoked, and while you don’t believe they’d actually hurt you, you also don’t feel the need to test the limits.

“It’s alright,” he answers, “I understand. I can be intimidating. My beauty is known throughout time and space, and I’m wanted by so many. I bet you feel like you can’t compare to some of my admirers.”

You stare at him, baffled that this is the conclusion he draws when you look at him. Admittedly he is one of the prettier brothers, but it’s an exaggeration for him to think you think of him in that way. It’s _because_ of who he is that you keep your distance. 

“Um, okay,” you reply. “Thank you for your help and I’m sorry wasn’t paying attention.” Nervous you turn your attention to your screen and make a move to pass him on your way to the student council hall.

A hand wraps around your arm, stopping you from leaving, and you look at it as Asmo says, “In a hurry to leave my presence so soon?”

You look up the few inches between you, the heat behind his eyes making them seem almost orange. You shiver, and not just from the aching desire that seems to claw at you whenever you’re around any of the brothers.

“I-I’m just heading to the hall for the comp-“

“There’s no rush,” Asmo interrupts as he takes a step toward you, hand still gripping your arm. You take a step back trying to keep distance between you two. He keeps going, forcing you back until you hit the wall behind you. His hand leaves your arm, taking up the spot next to your head and putting Asmo directly inside your personal bubble. 

You’re not sure what’s happening here. While your relationship with Asmodeus hasn’t been unfriendly, it definitely wasn’t friendly. At most you both existed inside the same home with polite, but short, interactions. So his...aggressiveness is quite alarming and unexpected.

You clear your throat, avoiding his eyes. “You’re-you’re a little close...Asmodeus.”

You can feel his smirk like oil, slick and hot, and you curse yourself for the wave of want that rushes through you. You flick your eyes up briefly, catching him looking you up and down like you’re some meal waiting to be eaten. 

“I can smell your arousal, human. Don’t be shy. Surely you’re not untouched, are you?”

You stare at the ground to your right, eyes going wide from the blunt vulgarity. As if your sex life is any of his business. You open your mouth for a rebuttal but he doesn’t give you a chance to say anything.

“Of course you’re not...I can practically taste all the men…” he takes a breath, licking his lips. Your stomach drops to your feet, equally appalled at his words and so turned on. Degradation is not your kink, but something about Asmodeus makes you want more of it. 

“Human men are so...disappointing,” he says almost to himself, tilting his head and leaning in a bit further. “Humans pride themselves for the talents I invented. But I can do so much more.” His free hand finds your thigh, fingers tickling your leg just beneath the hem of your skirt. “How have you been feeling today?” He asks.

You snap your head up, eyes locking with his as you process his words. 

“I can do so much and I don’t even have to touch you,” he continues. The intention behind his words is obvious and your eyes widen, understanding dawning. You knew the way you were acting today— _lately_ — was a fluke. You’ve never reacted to anyone like you have today—like you are in this moment, despite the fact you’re being sexually harassed, borderline assaulted.

Asmodeus leans in a little further, his lips brushing your ear and sending an electric shock down your spine, culminating in a large wet spot in your panties. “I can be better than any man you’ve ever had or ever will have,” he purrs into the shell of your ear, his fingers slipping just beneath your skirt, crawling up your leg. You shudder almost violently.

However, what Asmodeus fails to realize is that when backed into a corner your flight or fight response kicks in and it’s usually the fight that wins. Despite the almost suffocating desire rolling through you, the anger you feel being violated pools into fire that starts in your belly and radiates throughout your body, incinerating the lust raging through you.

“But you’re not a man,” you reply, your voice calm and cold like ice, even as your body goes rigid. Asmodeus leans back to gaze into your eyes, his expression carefully blank as he tries to read yours. “You’re a demon,” you continue, “and I’m sorry but I don’t fuck monsters. There’s enough of those among human men and I’ve learned to steer clear. You’re no different.”

Something dark and malevolent shadows Asmodeus’ eyes. “Is that so?” He replies slowly, tilting his head. He grins, dangerous amusement darkening his features. “I could make you, you know. I could make you desperate for me without even trying.”

The anger you feel blazes inside you, hot white fire burning through your veins like you swallowed the sun. How dare this asshole even hint at something so despicable. Demon or no, you will not be a victim of someone’s perverse pleasure. And now that Asmodeus has pushed you to your limits, you’re incapable backing down, though it would probably be smarter for you to just walk away.

Instead, you lean close to him, allowing your lips just millimeters from his, and with righteous anger and a challenge in your eyes you say, “Do it. Prove me right.”

The stare down lasts but a moment before Asmodeus backs away, still in your space but no longer crowding you against the wall. What is this guy’s _issue_?! 

“Prove you right,” he replies, chuckling darkly. 

“Yes,” you say, standing your full height, shoulders square. “Go ahead and make me fuck you. Prove you’re nothing more than a monster who can’t get pussy without force or trickery.”

Asmodeus’ eyes widen in bemusement. His grin widens and he replies, “Do...do you think that insult works on me, human? I am one of the Seven Lords of Hell. I helped initiate the downfall of humanity. I was there at the beginning and and will be there when your species turns to dust.” 

The atmosphere around you drops a few degrees, the air around Asmodeus shimmering. “I am a demon, the Avatar of Lust, and will take what I want, when I want, and how I want.”

“And yet we’re still talking,” you spit at him, fist clenching your phone hard enough to stress its casing. You raise your head and smirk, your heart pounding, your head screaming at you to shut your mouth before you end up a rape statistic. You’re not sure what you’ve done since being brought here to garner such viciousness, but you are not going to stand by and be bullied or assaulted. If he tries anything, you’re fully prepared to fucking fight back with all you are.

“You’re right,” Asmo says after a moment of shocked silence. The atmosphere changes drastically, calming as if nothing has happened, throwing you off kilter. “It'll be more fun to watch you break,” he goes on to say. “To watch as your will collapses on its own and you beg for the pleasure I can give you.”

You recover yourself quickly and scoff, rolling your eyes. Seriously, this guy’s ego. “Good luck with that,” you snap.

You cry out in pain and surprise when a deceptively strong hand grabs your chin and forces you to look right into his fiery eyes. You grip his wrist, fighting back uselessly.

“Hear me, little girl, before the year is out you _will_ beg me to take you. You will cry and promise me anything I want so long as I give you just a taste of what I can offer. But I promise you, you’ll never know it. I’ll pass your cock-teasing ass to every demon I know and watch you take them all hoping I’ll reward you.”

Your eyes narrow to slits as you glare the hardest you’ve ever glared in your life. You tighten your grip. The _audacity_ . The... _despicable_ ... _disgusting_...You growl and bare your teeth.

“Maybe,” you say. “Or maybe I’ll gladly fuck every demon in this cursed place as long as it’s not your filthy prick.”

Asmodeus grips your face hard enough to bring tears to your eyes, hellfire burning behind his. You know your life is in trouble, but you also revel in the fact you have affected him like this. You breathe deep and refuse to let him see you cry.

“What’s going on out here?!”

Asmodeus drops his hand like he’s just touched a hot stove and you quickly move away from him, rushing toward Lucifer, your unintentional savior.

“Nothing Luci,” Asmodeus replies to his big brother. “We were just playing.” His voice has returned to the simpering tone, but you can feel the heat of his gaze on your back as you escape. Lucifer is staring at you two but you ignore it, almost running past him and into the student council hall.

You're running on the adrenaline of earlier, the competition taking the place of the argument between you and Asmodeus. A part of you knows that the repercussions of demon’s behavior and words will hit you later, but right now your numb to it and focused on this stupid contest. A contest that is quickly losing its appeal as the reason for it becomes more and more inane. Why were you doing this again?

Oh yeah, Lucifer indirectly threatened you and your pride wouldn’t let it go. Oh the irony. 

Some residual anger still swims through you, not helped in the least by Asmodeus hosting the competition. He acts like he didn’t just pull a Viserys Targaryen on you not a half hour ago, smiling like you’re best friends. And all his brothers are none the wiser as they joke and insult each other. Even Diavolo showed up and is having a good time.

But between Lucifer’s power play and Asmodeus’ predatory behavior your mood has plummeted, finding it hard to enjoy what’s supposed to be a friendly competition. Even Levi is adding to the tension, wound tight as he is to prove you’re nothing but a “dirty normie”. However, you really don’t want to freak out right here, so you swallow your feelings and truck on through, determined to show Levi up.

During a short break as Levi argues some minute point for the hell of it, Mammon wanders up to you, his back to his brothers as he gazes at you, his clear, blue eyes searching your face. You do your best to avoid his scrutiny, staring hard at nothing in particular.

“What’s wrong with you?” He asks after a moment.

“Nothing,” you reply, still not meeting his eye. You feel his gaze boring into you and you’re finding it hard to maintain your control, not knowing if you want to scream or throw yourself into his arms. Not that you think he’d offer you comfort.

“I’m sorry about earlier.”

Your eyes snap up to lock with his, panicking for a second and wondering if he knows about your conversation with Asmodeus.

“What?” You ask, your heart thumping hard inside your ribcage.

“I said I’m sorry,” he repeats, his voice quiet enough for only you to hear. “I had some things to think about. That’s why I keep disappearing on you.”

You’re not sure how to respond, Mammon has never apologized to you before. You stare back at him, now searching his face for deceit but can’t find anything. The fact Mammon seems to suddenly care, especially when no one else seems to, makes your nerves ball into lead in your stomach and heat build behind your eyes. You blink rapidly. You’re determined not to let yourself collapse.

“Could we please just continue?” Lucifer demands, bringing Levi’s tirade to a halt and making you jump. 

“Yes, let’s finish before I lose any more brain cells,” Asmodeus says.

“I’m hungry,” Beel complains and Diavolo laughs, his eyes shining with mirth. 

At least someone is having a good time.

Mammon is still staring at you.

“I’m fine, Mammon,” you tell him. The look he gives you says he believes you about as much as he believes in credit scores, but he stays silent.

Mammon’s eyes never leave you as the quiz resumes, your answers coming out flat and dazed. It’s clear you’re not going to win, if Asmodeus asks you anything more technical like he’s been asking Levi, it’s over. You're trying to care.

However, Mammon seems to see you spiraling and he steps in, declaring that he has a secret weapon. You know exactly what he’s talking about since you were the one to tell him after following Satan’s advice. One glance at the blonde demon and you can tell by the evil grin he’s leveling at Levi that he knows too.

Either way, you’re thankful to Mammon, deciding you owe him big time because you are past ready to be done with this whole thing.

The problem is, you probably should have heeded Beel’s words as well as Satan’s, especially after both Lucifer’s and Asmodeus’ threats. 

Hell really is hell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do apologize to the Asmo stands who may find my version of him tasteless. I did this on purpose because I believe the sin of lust to be the most unique of all the sins. Imo it’s more subtle and more dangerous, and often a driving force behind the other sins. I also feel it’s more destructive than the others. That being said, my version of Asmo will not be the silly, childish airhead of the game. He only presents himself as innocent and harmless because that’s how lust works irl. 
> 
> Even Mammon and Beel aren’t as wholesome as the game depicts them. While I may write these boys as softer than their brethren, let’s not forget who they are. At heart, Mammon would sell you for a quarter. He only cares about what he can get and getting the most of it. Especially money. Beel would sell you for a pickle slice. For the same reasons. However, I do feel they are more harmless than the most of their other brothers. While greed and gluttony are destructive, they are capable of being overcome. Like sloth. Anger, pride, lust, envy are less so because of their subtlety. They are a slow decline, that slippery slope we hear about. This is my opinion, though. Not gospel.
> 
> Anyway, I hope I don’t get a lot of hate for my portrayal of any of these characters, but I need you to know that none of them are “nice”. These guys are DEMONS. It may be just my opinion but demons aren’t kind. They can do kind things, perhaps, but they aren’t kind. They can show mercy, but they aren’t merciful. And usually their actions are motivated by their own vice. Not to spoil the ending, but I do plan to show some redeeming qualities, but never forget, my portrayal will always be Avatars if Sin and Destruction. I think it makes them more fun this way. *shrugs*
> 
> If you have questions about my character portrayal, please feel free to ask my in my twt account: @bluelikewords
> 
> ☺️ BIMB


	7. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey yo! Bet you thought I forgot about this fic. Well, just to remind you, I said I was a slow updater. To reiterate, I am a single mother of two small kids with a full-time job, so I write when I have time and energy. Or, I write a little bit most nights, then if I'm lucky (as I have been the last few weeks) I get hit with some inspiration or writing fever and pump out a bunch of words. Lucky for you all, if you're still following the story, I managed to write TWO WHOLE chapters in a couple of weeks, so you get a Merry Christmas special of two chapters in one update. Yay for me. I'm also getting a whole plot together so that goes a long way to motivate me. 
> 
> Anyway, thank you all for the support and wonderful comments (except for that one asshole, you know who you are), I love everyone of them. Thank you, too, LinNeTule for beta-reading for me and helping me with ideas. Also, I love your critiques, they've been mad helpful. 
> 
> Few words of warning, this chapter is a little darker during Asmo's scene. There is some...dubcon, I guess? It definitely rides the edge of dubcon/noncon, so if it triggers you, you have been warned. However, Asmo's scene is my favorite so far that I've written, so hope you like it. I do promise you, he won't always be THIS bad. We will eventually see more of the flighty, flirty Asmo we all know and love, he just has to learn a few lessons first. 
> 
> Anyhoo, hope you all enjoy the updates. I will try not to take another six months to post something. LOL *sigh*
> 
> **Edit: Someone pointed out I made a mistake in the birth order of the brothers. I fixed the mistake, but I also had to...adjust the exposition in order for it to fit the scene. Fyi
> 
> ***Edit: Holy fuck, I can’t count to save my life!! Yes, I saw it. Yes, I’m fixing it.

It’s quiet in the student council room—unnaturally so since their strange sun had set, the darkness outside creeping in past the tall stained glass windows like a living shadow. Since the competition started, the tension in the room has continued to rise along with the demon moon.

You grit your teeth and clench your fists at your sides wondering if you made the best decision to divulge your secret weapon because the way Levi is staring at you has become quite concerning. Half of the eyes of the demons present are on you while the other half are on Levi.

“You’re lying,” he says.

“I’m not,” you reply, your tone flat, and you try to hide the shiver of nervousness that washes through you. 

“There is no way you, human normie scum that you are, have access to information like that,” he counters, his eyes darkening to a deep orange-red. You wish you could feel more victorious, but your nerves are stretched thin after your confrontation with Asmodeus and Mammon’s abandonment.

“Levi…” Lucifer warns.

“She’s lying!” Levi growls. You startle from the boom of anger in his tone, taking half a step back involuntarily.

“Oooh, but brother, it does follow logically from where the story left off. Perhaps she _is_ the bigger fan,” Asmodeus adds, his grin wicked. 

“Oi! Shut it, Asmodick!” Mammon yells.

“What?” Asmodeus counters, batting his eyes and clasping his hands behind his back like he’s innocent of sowing seeds of malcontent. He’s always the instigator, looking for a weakness in your walls and planting seeds of unrest, watching gleefully as the vines of hate that spread choke the bricks until they crumble to the ground. “I’m just being honest.”

“No one asked for your honesty or input,” you snap at the lust demon, reacting before thinking. No need to perturb the demons more than necessary. Asmodeus looks at you, something malevolent passing behind his gaze as he smirks at you. 

He shrugs. “Just trying to help.”

“Who told you?” Levi demands to know, dragging the attention back to him. The atmosphere sinks to freezing, clouds of steam puffing with each exhale of breath in the room. Levi begins to change. 

It’s funny how the brain works, because at this moment you realize that everytime there is a dip in temperature around an angry demon it means they’re about to transform. If you live through this, you’ll have to remember that tidbit of information.

“Come now, this was supposed to be a friendly competition,” Diavolo interjects. He stands off to the side, leaning against the table, hands gripping lightly at the edge and ankles crossed in front of him. His posture is easily carefree and relaxed. His tone is calm, but his eyes dance with humor, and it’s a little unnerving how much he’s enjoying himself in this situation.

“But she’s LYING!” Levi yells, fully transformed, his tail whipping back a forth in agitation and the aura around him dark with demonic energy. You notice fangs as he speaks and you can’t help but stare at how the light seems to bounce off of them. 

So is this what happens when you’re about to die? Your brain tries to distract you with nonsense as a coping mechanism?

You’re not sure what to do, in any event. You weren’t lying, Simon was the one who told you how the story continues. Oddly, you discover that it was him who wrote the story in the first place, so why would he lie to you about his own work? However, he also swore you to secrecy.

“WHO TOLD YOU?!” Levi demands once again. 

You take another hesitant step back. “I—I can’t tell you that,” you reply. “But, it’s—I—I’m not lying.”

You feel you shouldn’t be as worried as you are for your own safety. You’re in a room with nine demons, one of whom is the reason you’re here. Surely Diavolo wouldn’t let you come to harm over a simple competition. Surely.

“Levi, calm yourself,” Lucifer warns again.

“Well, I think the winner has been decided,” Asmodeus says. He’s looking between you and Levi, glee written all over his face. In fact, the only ones you notice who aren’t so giddy in this moment are Lucifer and Mammon. Beel doesn’t count because he’s only ever happy when food is available.

“Oi! Asmo! Shut. Up!” Mammon’s growls, his tone threatening.

“Am I wrong?” Asmodeus replies, innocent as ever. “With this new information, am I wrong to assume that [N] is officially the biggest fan?”

“NO!” Levi screeches, lunging himself at you, murderous intent turning his eyes black. It seems you did, in fact, find a thing that made the demon of envy very jealous.

You stumble back, both out of fear and the buffering wind caused by the speed of his launch, and you try to escape from Levi’s reaching claws. Unfortunately, you aren’t paying close attention to your surroundings as much as you’re concerned about staying alive and you back into a piece of furniture. The corner jabs painfully into your side and you drop to your knees as Levi bears down on you. You raise your hands in self-defense, horror stricken by your impending death.

“Mammon!” You yell, the first person you think of to save you.

“[N]!” You hear in response, along with a crash and more cursing.

You bash your head into whatever it is behind you as you jerk out of the way. The subsequent pain is blinding, rocking your brains inside your skull. You vision blacks for half a second before snapping back into focus. Your hearing is muffled by the sound of your heart beat and the throb in your head. More wind whips around you as a dark shadow descends, covering you and you’re convinced this is the end until you look up. Your head clears and the voices in the room become intelligible. You haven’t died. In fact, Lucifer stands before you, transformed, beautiful, black wings spread protectively in front of you.

“This is finished,” he says to Levi, his voice smooth like poison. “Go home, little brother.”

“But, Lucifer, she’s—“

“ _Now_ ,” Lucifer commands. You can’t see Levi’s face, but you can see his shoes and he’s no longer in his demon form, instead back to wearing the school uniform. Levi turns without a word more and shuffles out of the room, tail proverbial tucked between his legs. The last you see of him is the slump of his shoulders as he disappears from the door.

Your victory in the competition feels very hollow.

🕸🕸🕸

Asmodeus slams his bedroom door behind him and leans on the heavy wood, squeezing the bridge of his nose between a finger and thumb. The competition had been torture. Not only was the whole event trite (everyone knows Levi is the biggest slut for that series anyway), he also had to bury the fury that boiled hot and heavy in his gut. Humans are arrogant, witless worms not even worthy of licking the imprints his boots left in the dirt, and you had the audacity to mock him!

“Something the matter, my lord?”

Asmodeus’ eyes flick to the large, four-poster bed in the middle of the room. A slight breeze ripples the gossamer as someone shifts among the blankets. The room is bathed in low, pale blue light and a sweet-spicy scent of flowers drifts on the air. His room is usually comforting—his sanctuary. But right now it’s stifling. 

Ignoring the question, Asmodeus closes his eyes, projecting a shadow of himself in search of you. He finds you in the common room sitting on one of the couches. Simeon sits beside you with your face in his hands, and Asmodeus can feel the icky celestial power radiating off the angel as you’re healed. Simeon is saying something and Lucifer looks miffed, as usual. “...Be more careful,” Simeon admonishes. “Humans are fragile beings and you’re responsible for her wellbeing while here, Lucifer.”

“Yes Simeon, I am aware,” Lucifer replies, his tone bored but his eyes burning with a low fire at the angel’s condescension.

“Then how could you let something like this happen? I thought you were in charge, big brother.”

There is a low sound emanating from Lucifer. “Watch it, Simeon. We aren’t in your domain.”

The air in the room shifts, darkness seeping from Lucifer as Simeon starts to glow.

“Thank you, Simeon. I’m okay now,” You say, your hands gently grasping at the angel’s still cupping your cheeks. Your doe-eyes are full of gratitude, but your expression is tired. Simeon turns his beautiful face to you, his expression softened as he smiles at you with fondness like a big brother.

“If you ever feel unsafe, child, you can always come to Luke and I,” he says.

Lucifer rolls his eyes in the background. 

“Thank you,” you repeat and Simeon drops his hands. “But I think all I need right now is some sleep. Please excuse me.” You stand and walk toward the exit where Asmodeus hides. He doesn’t move as you pass through him, shutting his eyes against the brush of your soul against the darkness in his. Your breath hitches and you stop, your hand grasping at your shirt over your heart. Asmodeus watches your eyes widen and your skin turns slightly green and he grins, reveling in shiver that wracks you. 

_That’s right_ , he thinks, _I’m here._

“Everything alright, [N]?” Lucifer asks you, his brow dipped in concern. 

You turn, looking around but unable to determine the source of the feeling. You just nod your head silently, then you’re walking out of the room, the door slipping closed behind you with a quiet click.

“Quit skulking, Asmodeus,” Lucifer snaps. Asmodeus turns back to his brother and plays up the innocent brother schtick he’s perfected.

“I was just checking on our sweet roomie,” Asmodeus says, as much sugar in his tone as possible.

“I’m sure,” Lucifer replies, his expression passive while his voice drips sarcasm. “I don’t know what happened between you and the girl earlier, but I suggest you mind yourself.”

Asmodeus uses every bit of willpower within him to keep his expression oblivious. “I have no idea what you mean. We were just having a friendly chat.”

Simeon looks between Asmodeus and Lucifer, blue eyes intense as he tries to understand what’s happening. 

“I should be on my way,” Simeon says, standing to leave when they don’t offer any clarity. “Call me if you need me, though I hope there won’t be another incident.”

Lucifer nods without looking at the angel, his dark eyes fixed on Asmodeus. 

“Well, since the human has been patched back together with the generosity of our resident angel, I’ll take my leave as well. Buh-bye, big brother.” Asmodeus wiggles his fingers in a playful goodbye and his shadow dissipates like smoke. When he opens his eyes he’s back in his room, surrounded by all the things that should bring him comfort. He pushes off the door and walks the stone path toward his bed, the leaves of flowers and other flora rustling in the slight breeze, the thick scent of his garden making his head ache and the trickle of water from the decorative stream grating on his nerves.

Around him in the dark corners and alcoves of his room he hears the whispers of sighs and low moans as his guests gorge themselves on a constant diet of hedonism. He lets loose his own sigh as he sits on his bed, back curved and brow dipped in dark thoughts. He has an itch to scratch, a craving to sink his claws in you and wrap them around your soul, though he doesn’t really understand this new obsession. Humans are like ants, there are billions of them, and anyone would rip out their own heart for just a smidgeon of Asmodeus’ attention. So what does it matter to him that one tiny ant has spurned him?

A set of hands slide up his back and over his shoulders to hang over his chest as his back is encased in warmth, thighs sliding beside his own. Lips gently graze his neck and brush over his ear.

“My Lord is vexed,” the sultry voice of his favorite incubus purs into his ear. “Let me comfort you.”

Asmodeus sighs again, disappointed that Nyrlan’s proposition holds little temptation at this time.

“You’re not what I need right now,” Asmodeus responds, the resulting pout of the lesser demon lifting his mood slightly.

Asmodeus grins, he does need to work off some steam and he’s just realized how to do it. He stands from the bed and begins undressing.

“Naamah,” he says. A moment later a succubus steps forward. “My Liege,” she says with a sway of shapely hips. One of his first creations, Naamah is as beautiful as she is ancient, versed well in the seduction—and destruction—of men.

“You know what I want,” Asmodeus demands, crawling into the bed and resting back in his heels. Already his cock was filling out, his eagerness winning out over his control.

“Always, my Lord,” Naamah responds with a grin. Naamah is tall and dark skinned with full hips and a small belly. Her breasts are big and full, nipples pink and pointed. Her hair is dark like the night sky and hangs just above her round ass. Her eyes are big and black, her lips full and bow-shaped. Asmodeus is proud of his creation, though it’s been a while since he indulged in her services. At his word, she shifts, all the points of beauty disappearing until she is as dull and human as you. Yet Asmodeus’ cock jumps as his eyes drink in your naked form; the imperfection of your flesh. 

“Is my Lord pleased,” Naamah asks, her voice soft and sultry, and completely out of character.

“That’s not her.”

Naamah flinches, though Asmodeus’ tone was not harsh. She softens her eyes, her ancient gaze dimming and replaced with weakness, shame, and fear. Asmodeus basks in it.

“Come here, [N],” he commands. Slowly his transformation overtakes him. First, his horns grow, sharp, red tips followed by black bone. Then his claws extend like a cat preparing to capture his prey. His wings unfurl, first the diptera then the halteres, large, leathery, and black iridescence like swirling oil. Black and red scales appear, wrapping around his left arm and resembling bleeding hearts.

Your doppelgänger takes hesitant steps forward, nervous eyes darting as they try to dodge Asmodeus’ stiff length already beading precum at the tip. Your cheeks burn red, hands clenching and unclenching at your sides. Your expression flutters between humiliation, fear, and anger. 

Want.

It’s so beautiful.

You stop at the edge of the bed, jerking back with a stifled whimper when Asmodeus’ fingertips drag lightly up one of your arms. 

“So fragile,” he croons, eyes blackened by his demonic nature and lust. All eyes in the room are locked fast on the both of you, hungry to watch their master break the pitiful human, even if it’s no more than a ruse. Still, his beloved children indulge him, as desperate as he is to watch their creator work.

You try to cover up, to protect yourself from his predatory gaze and the secret eyes staring at you.

“Please,” you whisper, your voice wavering under your horror.

“On your knees, [N]. Hands on the bed.”

You shake your head and Asmodeus grins, fangs sharp and white in the low light.

“I never ask twice, my love.” He levels you with his heated gaze, allowing you to see the depths of his demonic soul. You whine, stress panting as you look around the room with desperate, pleading eyes for help you know won’t come.

“[ **_N_ **],” Asmodeus says, his many voices layered with authority and the promise of pain that follows disobedience.

You fall to your knees, unable to withstand the command, your legs buckling like a newborn deer unable to hold your weight. Your entire body convulses with tremors, body pimpling with goosebumps from the cold sweat that breaks out across your skin. Your breath hitches with each inhale and gushes out with each exhale, the damp heat filling the space between Asmodeus’ thighs when he scoots closer to the edge. 

With one hand he pets the crown of your head, his strokes gentle, if not kind. With the other he strokes at his stiffened cock slowly, squeezing the tip on each upstroke, precum dripping from the tip in sticky strings. The hand on your head slides down your temple in an almost loving caress and Asmodeus grips at your chin, pushing his manicured thumb past your lips and forcing your teeth to part until your mouth is wide open. 

“Do you know why I’m the fifth brother?” Asmodeus asks. You stare up at him, throat bobbing and tongue brushing the tip of his thumb as you try to swallow around the grip on your chin. 

“Because in terms of sin, very few beings are immune to me. Pride caused man to revolt against God, Envy drive man to covet his favor when it was lost, and Greed made him commit murder when he was refused. But me?” Asmodeus continues with a smile that slinks across his features like the snake in the Garden. “I was there from the beginning, the brother in the background that no one minded, whispering sweet words in Lucifer’s ear, filling Levi’s cup with bitter wine, and presenting Mammon with a bottomless bowl. Even my brothers cannot resist me.”

Asmodeus releases your face, thumb glistening with your spit. He digs slight fingers into the back of your head, sharp claws digging into your scalp. You stare up at him, the war waging between your want and your fear playing across your delicate features. 

“Do not fear, sweet thing, for I am desire given flesh, the god of pleasure.”

Asmodeus growls low in his throat, baring his teeth in approval and excitement when the battle within you ends, your flesh proving weaker than your will. Your pupils blow wide and your eyes glaze with the fever of passion. Your skin warms beneath his fingers and flushes rosy across your cheeks and down your throat to cover your heaving chest. You whimper quietly when he pulls you forward, your mouth dropping open, wet and ready for his blessing.

You eagerly lap at the tip as he guides himself past your lips, sipping at ambrosia, wrapping your lips around the crown with light suckling. Asmodeus cants his hips, guiding you as he begins to fuck your mouth.

“Yes, my dearest,” Asmodeus groans. “Come and worship at my altar.”

🕸🕸🕸

Mammon swings open your bedroom door and struts through the entrance with a snarl. He’s so pissed he doesn’t know what to do with himself, he feels like a lightening building in the clouds and he’s looking for anything to discharge the extra energy as long as it’s not destructive. The last thing he needs is _Big Brother_ to interfere. Again. So, he finds himself in your room without even really knowing why.

Mammon rummages through your stuff, not really seeing orlooking for anything, and muttering absently. “Junk. Nothin’ but junk.”

He picks up a sweater off the loveseat, it’s puke green and threadbare and an eyesore, but it makes Mammon’s stomach twist and his heart do that weird squeezy thing he fucking _hates_ , but he also can’t stop himself from bringing the ugly material to his face and taking a deep breath.

“Not sure [N] would be happy about you perving on her stuff,” Beel mumbles around a slice of pizza, appearing what feels like out of nowhere.

Mammon spins around and drops the sweater like so much trash. “Fuck you, Beel. I don’t know what yer talking about.”

Beel shrugs his shoulders. “You’re just awfully cozy with her...things.”

Mammon scoffs and averts his gaze. “Whatever, I’m just looking fer some’n worth selling, asshole.”

“Keep telling yourself that, big brother.”

“Ya looking for a fight, muscle-for-brains?!”

“You think you can take me? Who works out more?”

“We can certainly find out, _little brother_.”

"Mammon…”

Mammon freezes, slowly turning his attention from Beel to you as you now stand in the doorway.

“[N],” Mammon says, eyes taking in your tired appearance; the shadows beneath your eyes and the sallow pallor of your skin. You look like you took a beating, but without all the bruising.

“What are you doing here?” You ask, your tone flat. Mammon almost flinches because the lack of emotion is so unlike you and it’s almost painful. You walk into the room followed by Satan who’s holding a cup of tea, and Mammon stifles the growl that wants to escape. Why the fuck are there so many people in your damn bedroom?!

You walk past Mammon, not really waiting for an answer and Mammon opens his mouth, but all his words get stuck in his throat. You nearly died today and that single fact bothers him more than he cares to admit.

“You okay, [N]?” Beel asks you, tugging lightly on a lock of hair, small, concerned, albeit fond smile on his lips and Mammon is disgusted.

And maybe a little jealous. But that’s unimportant.

You only smile weakly back at Beel, patting him on his arm as you pass him to sit heavily on the edge of your bed. Satan follows, handing you the tea he brought with him. 

“Thank you,” you say, but you don’t take a drink, and it’s quiet in the room as the demons watch you, their thoughts hidden.

“Well, I think there has been enough excitement for one day,” Satan says, wide-eyed as he stares at Mammon and Beel. Mammon has no idea what he wants.

“Perhaps,” Satan continues, “we should _leave_ [N] to get some rest.” He tilts his head subtlety at the door. Oh.

“Yeah, good idea. If you need me, [N], just holler. I’ll bring snacks,” Beel offers.

You nod absently.

“Come along, Mammon. Let’s give [N] some privacy,” Satan says.

Mammon slowly turns to follow his brothers. Satan is the first out of the door, followed by Beel, and as his brothers clear the threshold, Mammon slams the door in their faces.

_Yeah, fuck that._

Mammon turns back to you. You’re still sitting on the bed with the cup of tea cooling in your hands. Your head hangs low and Mammon is low-key freaking out because he’s used to seeing you bitch and holler when you’re upset. However, your… defeated countenance is so out of character that he’s totally out of his element. 

_Why do I even care_ , Mammon thinks, but his feet are already carrying him toward the bed. He takes a seat next to you, body stiff with nerves and uncertainty.

“Um…” is all he manages to get out before the teacup is falling from your hands, brownish liquid spilling onto the carpet, and you’re throwing yourself at him, face buried in his chest, t-shirt soaked through with fat tears as you sob like your mother was just eaten by a grell right in front of your eyes.

It’s weird. Mammon can’t remember the last time he held a crying… _thing._ It’s definitely uncomfortable and awkward. But, it’s also… it fills Mammon with a little pride. Maybe. Because you obviously feel secure enough with him to be this vulnerable. That means something. Right?

Anyway, Mammon wishes he knew why you were upset. Well, besides the obvious reason. It’s not everyday you’re attacked by a powerful demon and live to cry about it. Still, Mammon isn’t stupid, despite the opinions of some. He knows that you were in your feelings all during the competition, he just doesn’t know why. A part of him wonders if he was the reason, but he also knows you would have just responded to him with snark if that was the case. Instead, when he did ask a few hours ago, you could barely look at him. Now here you are crying your eyes out, and over what?

It is rare that Mammon ever feels this… _useless_. Maybe it is his fault. It isn’t like he’s been super diligent about caring for you. What if another demon attacked you and he wasn’t around to help? But, if that was the case, how would you have escaped alive. The only reason you’re alive now, as much as it pisses Mammon off, is that Lucifer stepped in and shielded you from Levi’s wrath. Mammon had been on the floor after slipping in Beel’s drool and hadn’t made it to you in time. While he’s grateful you’re unhurt (physically), it was him you called for when you were in danger, and he had failed to rescue you. 

Mammon, awkwardly, wraps an arm around you and pats your head. It’s not much, but it’s all he has at this point. Eventually you calm down and back off, wiping at your face. Mammon looks down to see large tear stains and snot on his shirt and he grimaces. Humans are so gross.

“Sorry,” you say, and Mammon looks up at you. You’re still scrubbing at your face, but your expression is sheepish. 

Mammon quickly schools his face and replies, “It’s fine.” He rises from the bed and walks into the bathroom, grabbing a handful of toilet tissue. He brings it back to you, thrusting out his hand. You smile weakly at him, using the tissue to clean your face, whispering, “Thank you.”

Mammon shrugs. “You can pay me back by payin’ for the dry cleaning bill. This shirt’s expensive.”

You pause, staring up at him, then start laughing. The change in mood is sudden and kind of gives Mammon whiplash.

“Same ol’ Mammon,” you say, which is confusing because he hasn’t changed.

Mammon stands in front of you, hands in his pockets, drawing a blank as to what his next move should be. He watches you breath deep, centering yourself as you finish wiping down your face. Your cheeks and nose are splotchy and your eyes are rimmed red from crying. You’re hair is a mess and you just look… well, you look like shit, but Mammon’s chest is starting to feel like it’s gonna implode the longer he looks at you. 

He realizes that he never wants to deal with you crying again and if he’s gonna make sure of that, then he’s just gonna have to be more re—re—respon—responsi—well, he’s gotta protect you.

Fine.

Whatever. He can do that.

“Yer not allowed to be saved by anyone but me!”

You jump like a skittish rabbit at the sound of his shouting in the quiet of your room.

“What?” You ask, looking up at him, your eyebrows drawn in confusion.

 _Well shit_. That wasn’t exactly what he’d been going for, but his mouth started moving before his brain had fully formed the thought. However, thinking about it, it did sound reasonable.

“I said what I said,” Mammon replies.

You blink at him, expression blank for a moment, but then you start grinning. Something about your smile makes Mammon feel exposed and heat rises to his cheeks. 

_What the fuck?! Why am I blushing?!_ Believe it or not, this isn’t the first time he’s asked himself this question. You tend to do this to him more often than he thinks is reasonable.

“Stop lookin’ at me worm,” he snaps. Even to his ears it sounds weak. You’re still smiling at him. Dammit.

“Mammon…” you start, but he isn’t here to listen to excuses. He’s said his piece, now he’s ready to go. He walks to the door, his steps a little too fast, but there is warmth gathering in the empty space behind his ribs and it’s _really fucking uncomfortable_. He flings open the door, turning back to you.

“Even if ya die, you wait until I save ya, ya hear?!” Okay his voice is a little shrill, somehow he’s lost control, and you’re still smiling at him, but the look is just a little too fond. 

You nod, “Yes, sir.”

Oh my—No! Stop it!! Mammon narrows his eyes at you and huffs. Without another word he stomps through the door, slamming it behind him.

In the hallway he pauses, hands over his face as he silently screams. Mammon realizes something. 

_I am fucking screwed._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey all, hope you enjoyed. Comments and kudos much appreciated. Now on to the next chapter! Have fun!! 
> 
> BIMB :)


	8. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we be, the second update. Sweet right? Hope you enjoyed the last chapter. This chapter is a little more lighthearted, we've found our way back to the dark humor and sarcasm that we love about mc. And for all you Lucifer stans, there are gray sweat pants. For all you Mammon stans, the last scene is a special treat. I loved writing this whole chapter, but that last scene *mwah* *chef's kiss* is delectable, imo. So, have fun and see you next time!

You receive permission to stay home the day after the competition, not that you would have gone to school regardless. You are a goddamned grown adult and don’t need some pompous prick’s approval to skip a day. And, yes, maybe you are feeling especially sensitive, but you did nearly  _ die _ , so your less than respectful attitude when Lucifer stops by to tell you to stay home is, in your opinion, warranted.

“Thanks dad,” you tell him, tone flat and muffled from where you’ve burritoed yourself in the plush blankets of your borrowed bed. Lucifer must be feeling generous since your response garners nothing more than an exasperated sigh before you hear the door close with a soft click. You heave your own sigh as well, wiggling further into your protection of blankets and let yourself succumb to the void that follows in the wake of depression.

It’s dinner time when you finally haul your heavy body, weighted down with grief and loneliness and a sprinkling of rage, up and out of the warm solitude of your makeshift nest, shuffling first to the bathroom and then out of your room and down the hall to the dining room. Your stomach has been complaining all day, but you haven’t had the energy to give it the attention it needs, choosing to ignore your bodily functions in lieu of wallowing in self-pity. You don’t even bother to change or fix your hair, only tucking fly away strands behind your ears and throwing on a thick, oversized sweater. 

Your appearance is obviously strange enough that all the brothers gathered at the table fall silent the moment you enter. You could hear the raucous nature of their activities from the hall and the sudden shift to quiet and tense is palpable as you take your normal seat, falling into your chair with blatant disdain. You don’t bother to make eye contact as you practically throw food onto your plate, tearing into whatever meat has been served like an angry honey badger. When you do bother to look around the table, all the brothers are staring at you with a mix of horror, wariness, and even a bit of amusement.

“What?” You snap, still chewing a bite of food, glaring at each of them in turn.

Lucifer clears his throat, though it does nothing to dispel the heavy, black aura you brought into the room with you. “Yes, well, I’m glad to see you’ve decided to join us, [N]. Are you feeling better?”

You roll your eyes, returning them to your plate. “Fucking peachy,” you grunt.

Someone snickers. 

“Yes—“ Lucifer begins to reply, but he’s interrupted by Leviathan.

“Um—[N]—could I—we talk? Please.”

Your red rimmed eyes roll toward the demon, staring hard at him, expression blank. “Well, I don’t know, Leviathan. Do you plan to eat me if we do?”

Leviathan grimaces. “Ew, no, I don’t particularly enjoy human flesh—“

Lucifer clears his throat again, subtlety shaking his head when he catches Leviathan’s eyes. It takes the younger demon half a second to realize his mistake and he hurriedly changes his answer as he yanks his gaze back to you with a flinch. “Oh! Ah, no...no, I just—ah—wanna talk.”

If you could, you would happily set the wholeass room on fire. Instead you just curl your lip in distaste and shove up and walk away without looking back to see if Leviathan follows. You’re not paying attention to where you’re going, blindly letting your feet lead you to wherever while you’re lost in thoughts of the last few days, stewing in your anger. You only realize where you are when you hear the soft tinkling of a fountain. The observatory. You haven’t been in here before now, only passed it on occasion, too busy to really explore the house. It’s a little sad to think you’re too upset to really appreciate the room, as beautiful as it is; large, cross-hatched glass windows and the ceiling covered in a mosaic of stars and planets, obviously a magicked recreation of the solar system, such as it is to the demon realm.

Your attention is diverted by the sound of shoes tapping along the floor as Leviathan approaches. He stops before you, and your struck by the humanness of him, how he isn’t as tall as one would think considering his demon-ness, and he’s so fucking skinny. Yet, you also have first-hand experience knowing the kind of strength behind his slight frame. None of that matters currently, though, as you stare up at him with a mixture of impatience and apathy, arms crossed protectively across your chest.

“You wanted to talk,” you say when he doesn’t make any noise for a few minutes.

“Yeah—um—look. I—I just wanted to apologize for… you know,” he says, stumbling over his words with sheepish awkwardness.

“You  _ know _ … You mean when you tried to kill me over a fucking movie?”

Leviathan shrugs, flinching a little. “To be fair, I  _ am _ the Avatar of Envy and you  _ did  _ provoke me.”

Your mouth drops open in disbelief. This was, probably, the shittiest apology you’ve ever received. That includes your ex-boyfriend whom you caught cheating with his best friend. Right now you have so many things you want to say in response. How that didn’t give him the right to fly off the handle over such a trivial matter. How he, and his brothers for that matter, act like undisciplined toddlers who throw tantrums when they don’t get what they want. You’re so…  _ angry _ at the total lack of concern or remorse, regardless of the fact they’re  _ demons _ ...

**_SMACK_ **

It happens before you’re even aware you reacted. Leviathan’s head snaps to the side, the red imprint of your hand bright against the paleness of his skin. Your chest is heaving, adrenaline pumping through your veins like liquid fire, and your palm stings. But it also feels  _ so fucking good _ to give back just a little of what you got.

As Leviathan straightens up and turns his face back toward you, it slowly dawns that perhaps you overreacted. You’ve seen how easily angered they are, physical violence might not be the best recourse when you’re up against ancient beings of untold power. Still, even as you brace yourself for a quick and most likely painful death, you can’t help but feel a little more powerful yourself.

Weirdly enough, when Leviathan looks at you, it’s not with the cold anger of hell. Nope. His eyes are wide, but hazy and his pupils blown, and his cheeks are pink, as well as the bridge of his nose, and it has nothing to do with the handprint still glowing on the right side of his face. You’re pretty sure you recognize that look, unfortunately, and you don’t know whether to be disgusted or laugh.

Figures these guys would have a masochistic streak.

You both stare at each other in silence for a long moment. At least until you break eye contact and cross your arms, once again, over your chest. Your own face is hot from secondhand embarrassment and you can’t meet Leviathan’s eyes. He takes a deep, shaky breath, and it takes all of your power not to roll your eyes. You are not ready to deal with kinky demon hormones right now.

“You wanted the record?” Leviathan asks. You close your eyes, composing yourself against the breathless sound of his voice. You’re half afraid if you look at him you’ll see a tent in his pants, and if that is the case then you will definitely drop to the floor sobbing at the unfairness of life.

“What?” You croak, opening your eyes and tentatively gazing at the demon.

“The record. The prize for winning the competition?”

“Oh, um yeah,” you reply with a sigh of relief that Leviathan sounds and looks more or less normal now. Thankfully he’s pulled himself together and looks like the normie hating otaku he is.

“Come by my room later and you can pick it up,” he offers.

For a second you think to refuse him, not wanting to be caught alone with him a second time tonight, but you quickly realize that just means he’ll be stopping by your room, and you’re not sure which is worse. Also, if he wanted to do anything, he would have by now, and you couldn’t have stopped him as Asmodeus was so happy to point out the other day.

(That reminds you, it might do you some good to slap a rapey, arrogant demon in the face. Though, on second thought, he might enjoy it way more than his brother and you really don’t want to give Asmodeus any more reason to take advantage of you.)

“Fine,” you reply to Leviathan and turn to walk away.

“[N], wait!”

You pause, making a half-turn while tilting your head and widening your eyes in impatience. “What now? We’re done aren’t we?”

“Yes, but—um… I really am sorry,” Levi replies, his tone more genuine than it had been a few moments prior. Huh. Maybe that slap did knock some sense into him.

“Yes, sure. It’s cool,” you say. “Just—you know—don’t do it again or whatever.”

“Wait, no. I mean… look, l—let me make it up to you,” Levi stutters.

“How?” You ask, turning to him fully, curious despite your lingering irritation. 

Levi hesitates, eyes darting to the side like he is arguing with himself. “Make a pact with me,” he says after some inward debating, his gaze coming back to land on you, tangerine eyes back lit with lavender.

You freeze. A pact, huh? It makes sense and it would go a long way to making you hate Levi less, especially since you could exact revenge if he gets out of hand again. Also, it’s not like you aren’t damned anyway, seeing as you’re already bound to Mammon. One more proverbial penny won’t break the proverbial bank, not when you’ve already overdrawn? Right?

For the first time in twenty-four hours you smile. “Sounds good to me.”

🕸🕸🕸

Minutes after you get the record from Levi you head to Lucifer’s room, unsurprised to find him already there. “[N],” he drawls after opening the door, cocking his head at you where he blocks the doorway like he’s expecting you’ll burst past him. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

You’re stunned for a moment, unsure how to react to this new version of the avatar of Pride. Lucifer is wearing low-hung  _ gray  _ sweats that aren’t exactly  _ hiding _ much and a form-fitting black t-shirt. Under his uniform you never would have guessed at all the  _ muscle _ ; his biceps actually straining the sleeves of his shirt and you can see a hint of rippled abs beneath the thin material, not too mention has Lucifer always been so damn broad in the shoulders?! You’ve honestly never seen him not wearing a uniform of some sort and right now you wish you hadn’t seen him dressed like  _ this _ because your fucking face is heating up and you can’t  _ stop staring _ .

Lucifer clears his throat and when your eyes snap up to meet his, he’s smirking with a raised eyebrow. Embarrassed you were caught ogling  _ Lucifer _ , of all demons, and a little miffed he’s finding your humiliation amusing, you shove the record in his face without saying a word. His head snaps back so you miss punching him in the nose, but his eyes widen when the title of the album finally registers.

“Well this is a surprise,” he says, gently lifting the vinyl from your shaking fingers while leaning one shoulder against the door frame.

“Yeah, well, I figured a thank you was in order. You know, for saving my life and all.”

Lucifer looks at the album then back at you. “It was hardly saving you. I’m certain Levi would not have mortally wounded you.”

You snort, still avoiding looking anywhere but at his face. “That’s comforting, I guess.”

“Yes, well, it’s much easier to heal a broken body than revive a soul, especially since our healing abilities are less than stellar considering the broken connection with Heaven.”

_ Good to know _ . If you’re ever seriously hurt, you know to not go to the seven demons for patching up. Especially since it seems they’d probably be the ones responsible in the first place. 

“Anyway, heard you liked it so thought I’d drop it off. So, yeah, thanks and all, and uh, yeah. Good night, Lucifer.”

“Thank you, [N]. It’s funny but I thought this particular album was rare and Levi had one of the few copies in circulation. Convenient, right?”

Your pulse jumps as you carefully control your expression. “Huh… yeah, super interesting,” you reply, hoping your voice doesn’t give away your nervousness. If Lucifer discovers your true intentions it will put a damper on your plans and make your suffering through that excruciating competition all for nothing.

“Hmm,” Lucifer replies. He doesn’t say anything else and you turn to leave. “Oh, by the way, [N]...” You halt your steps and glance over your shoulder, holding your breath. “I forgot to inquire before but what exactly was the prize for winning the competition?”

Well fuck!

“Oh, uh, nothing important,” you squeak, rushing to think of some excuse off the top of your head. “Just—uh—Levi had to—um give—give up one of his games for a month. Yeah.” Wow, that wasn’t suspicious at all. You’re starting to get dizzy from the lack of air.

“Hmm… indeed. Well we all know that Levi could occasionally use a break from playing games.”

“Right. Uh...night.”

Lucifer smiles at you though his eyes are so sharp you feel like you’ll slice in half and bare all your secrets. “Good night, [N].”

Your steps feel jerky as you walk away as calmly as possible, then you turn the corner down the hall and stop to lean against the wall, gasping for air. You hadn’t realized how your heart pounded behind your ribs until now, your breath coming in quick, short breaths and your hands resuming their shaking.

Once again you wonder if knowing what— _who_ —is in the attic is worth all the trouble. You’ve been bullied, nearly killed, and now just barely escaped getting busted by Lucifer all for your pride. The irony of that statement is not lost on you, but regardless you can’t forget the pathetic sound of that voice calling out for help. You’re no demon, which means by default you're obligated to assist someone in need.

_ This really fucking sucks. _

You take another breath and carefully peek around the corner. Lucifer’s door is closed so you tiptoe back down the hall toward his room again. This time, though, you hesitantly put your ear to the door to listen. Soft notes from string and wind instruments float from within Lucifer’s room and you smile to yourself. Looks like your plan worked.

Well, Mammon’s plan, but he isn’t here so you’ve decided to take the credit for yourself. Anyway, now it’s time for part two of your plan so you hurry back down the hall in search of the stairwell that will finally lead you to your answers and the end of this asinine quest.

Your heart beats erratically behind your breast as you reach the landing. You lightly grasp the railing and with one last look behind you and a shaky breath, you climb the stairs.

You reach the top and look around. The room is not overly large but it isn’t small. It’s windowless and you grope around until your hand brushes a light switch that you flip. A low, warm yellow glow lights the space that is sparsely filled with discarded furniture and dusty boxes. It’s unimpressive, to say the least, and kind of anticlimactic considering the warning you got about sneaking around. At the back are a set of doors, a heavy wooden door with a scrolled, gate-like door in front of it. You make your way to the back, looking over the door that obviously leads to another room. You grab the handle, twisting futilely, it’s locked and you huff in frustration. 

“Hello? Lucifer?” 

Your breath hitches when someone calls out from inside. 

“Is someone there? If you are, please help me,” the person pleads and your heart breaks at their desperation.

“H-hello,” you answer.

“Oh! Hi! You are there.”

“Uh… yeah. Um, are you okay?”

“I was imprisoned here by Lucifer. Do you know him?”

“Unfortunately.”

There is a short chuckle from within. 

“Um, so what happened?” You ask the voice.

“What happened?”

“Yes, I mean, why were you—uh—trapped? In there.”

“I’m not sure. I went to sleep and woke up here and I haven’t been able to leave.”

Well, that sounded familiar. And also, how fucking horrible. How could Lucifer, or whoever did this, cruelly imprison a person like this?

“Are you human?” You ask.

“I am. I am just like you—a human.”

So there are more than just two humans in hell and you’ve been lied to. Go figure. 

“Are you here for the exchange program?” You continue to inquire.

“Um—yeahh… do you think you can get me out of here?”

You wonder if this is what happens to humans who fail the program somehow.

“How long have you been here?” You say, forgetting you were already asked a question, too caught up in impossible scenarios to listen.

“A year. I’ve been here a year. Now can you help me or not?” The impatience in the tone has some alarms going off in the back of your head, but you ignore them because of course the person is upset. They’ve been trapped for a year, which only serves to harden your determination to rescue them.

“Okay, yeah, hold on,” you say. 

“Wait—“

You try looking around the old boxes, opening them up and searching inside. Most are full of old clothes and memorabilia that is useless for opening locked doors. It doesn’t take long, maybe ten minutes, before you’ve looked through all the boxes and searched the furniture on the off chance there could be a key. You return to the door.

“I’m sorry but I can’t find a key. I might have to look downstairs, so if you can hold on I’ll be back as soon as possible—“

“Don’t bother,” says the voice, exasperated. You try not to feel offended, it’s not like you didn’t try and you're more than willing to keep searching. No need for disappointment.

“The door is enchanted. It only opens under specific circumstances,” they clarify.

Oh.

“What circumstances?” You ask, wary because you have no experience with magic or whatever.

“You have to get all six brothers to agree to it.”

You snort. Talk about an impossible task. “You know that will never happen, right?” You say, disbelief coloring your words. You don’t want to give up, but if the door has been cursed and needs the brothers to cooperate, then you’d have a better chance waiting on snow in hell. “There has to be another way.”

“There isn’t. Lucifer’s spells are pretty thorough.”

Seems pretty strange this person would know something so detailed about Lucifer, but you choose not to look at it too closely. Instead you focus on how you can help.

“Well, then tell me what to do to get you out of there.”

There is silence, so long that you wonder if they plan to answer at all. Then, “The only thing you could do is make a pact with each of them.”

“A pact?” You answer, though you’re distracted, something feels…  _ off _ , but you can’t quite put a finger on it.

“Yes, it’s when a demon and a human—“

“Yeah, I know what it is. I have two already; one with Mammon and one with Levi.”

The voice drops silent before you hear incomprehensible mumbling. 

“That’s good,” they say, speaking for you to hear. “If you’re willing to help me you just need a pact with the four others.”

You chew your bottom lip, lost in thought. Mammon was the easiest of the two, your pact with Levi nearly cost your life. You have no doubt things won’t be as simple with Satan or Lucifer. Your biggest issue, however, is having to make a pact with Asmodeus, the thought of which makes you shudder.

However, the thought of leaving this human, confined alone to the attic, is something you could never live with. You take a deep breath.

“Okay,” you say.

“Thank you!”

You reply with a limp smile before realizing the other person can’t see you. “Thank me when we get you out of here.”

They chuckle again. 

“So,” you begin. “Have any ideas how to go about making pacts with the other four brothers?”

“Beelzebub,” came the quick reply. “Start with him. The other three we will deal with later.”

You nod, again forgetting they can’t see you. “Okay.”

“You should go. Come back again and let me know how things are progressing.”

“Okay, I’ll come back as soon as I can.”

And with that you leave them behind and head back downstairs. Fortunately, everything went off without a hitch and you retreated to your bedroom with no issues.

Well, except for the slight uneasiness you felt regarding the person in the attic. Something felt off, but you cast aside your doubt and focused on your next course of action; namely your goal to make a pact with Beel.

By morning you’re no closer to figuring out how to trap the demon of greed and you’re distracted all through breakfast. You can’t stop thinking about the person in the attic, but Mammon has also stolen a small part of your attention. Why? Because he’s being weird.

You’re reminded of a few nights ago when you returned to your room after being healed by Simeon to find Mammon and Beel waiting. Satan had followed you with a cup of tea, but as distraught as you were, his uncharacteristic kindness was forgotten amidst the trauma you faced. It was but a few minutes before Beel and Satan left, though Mammon stayed behind, and he’d been, oddly, comforting, allowing you to cry on his shoulder. When you’d managed to control yourself, he’d run out of your room after warning you to, what? Depend solely on him for protection? Because that had gone so well so far. You hadn’t seen him since except for briefly at dinner the previous night, and now here at breakfast where he’s taken a seat next to you. Seems he plans to make good on his declaration, though. At least until he gets bored again.

Yet, his attitude seems to have changed. With his brothers he’s the same old insecure snot who has to put up with shit-talking and insults. But towards you his face softens and he smiles shyly, not really saying too much, only being a comforting presence. Did you mention it’s weird?

Despite the dramatic events of the last two days, and despite your preoccupation with the person in the attic and your non-plan to make a pact with Beel, a part of you is reeling at the attention Mammon is lavishing on you. The small crush you’ve been avoiding like the plague is rearing its little, ugly head and you hate how much you’re affected by this change in his attitude.

You’re pulled from your thoughts after breakfast as you head toward the front entrance of the manor on your way to class, Mammon walking happily beside you. Lucifer calls your name and asks to speak to you. Mammon glares at him but continues on with a look from Lucifer and you watch Mammon leave, your pulse revving like a chainsaw, unsure what to expect as you stop beside the eldest demon brother.

“I just wanted to say that I’m happy you're back to normal,” Lucifer tells you with a small smile. You don’t know how to respond, wondering why he needed to speak privately with you just to praise you. 

You’re not left wondering long as Lucifer asks you, “Did you enjoy yourself last night?” His tone is indifferent, but his eyes have darkened with malevolent amusement. You start to sweat under his purposeful gaze and when you swallow it feels like glass.

“Um—I guess? N—nothing happened or any—anything.” Shit, this can’t can’t look good. So much for being conspicuous.

“Hmm, that so? Well, I enjoyed my evening, the record turned out to be everything I thought it was, so I hope your evening was as worth it as mine. But, word of warning, [N],” Lucifer replies, his smirk showing a hint of fang, and all the hair in your body stands at attention. “Some secrets are better left alone lest the curious cat gets herself killed.”

You’re stunned into silence, your eyes wide and body frozen to the spot. Lucifer flashes you an amused, indulgent smile. 

“Have a wonderful day, [N],” he adds and then he’s gone, leaving you bristling with fear for your life and a simmering anger. How many times are you destined to be threatened during your stay? Because it’s starting to get  _ really fucking old. _

_ Well, challenge accepted, dickbag.  _

_ 🕸🕸🕸 _

Mammon’s change of behavior continues throughout the day. He stays by your side, attentive without being overbearing, making small jokes and showing you Devildom memes that make you laugh because you're finally beginning to get them as you grow accustomed to your temporary home. It's nice and a nice distraction, but it’s hell in your emotions because you’ve experienced the finicky nature of demonhood and you wonder what it would take before Mammon is trying to tear you apart, too. 

It’s hard though. It’s lunchtime and you're hanging out with Mammon in one of the classrooms when Beel drops in. You’ve been wondering lately if you don’t need something to occupy your time outside of the manor. To be fair, all of your time except for sleeping has basically been centered on the brothers and that has probably been the biggest contribution to all of the problems you’ve had. You have no space. No distance.

It’s what you think about as you watch Mammon argue with Beel about a stolen sandwich. They’re cute, and your heart stutters when Mammon catches you staring and rolls his eyes with a grin. 

This. This right here is why you need some sort of distraction. Your heated cheeks and racing heart are very problematic when you have bigger things to focus on. Not to mention Mammon is a  _ demon _ and you’ve first-hand experience with how easily that turns on you. But recognizing pitfalls and avoiding them are two different issues, especially when you kind of, maybe, are a little desperate for Mammon’s attention. It’s like you’ve won some prize, all his threats and insults turned teasing and his eyes turned soft when they fall on you. 

It also doesn’t help that you’re still…  _ visiting _ certain scenarios at night alone in your room. Perhaps not as often as you’d like, willing your body under control most days, but it certainly isn’t conducive to distancing yourself from this burgeoning crush you have.

“I need a job,” you say, the suddenness of your declaration surprising Mammon and Beel, as well as yourself. However… it  _ would  _ be a logical conclusion. You worked back home, albeit for money to pay bills, but the essence is similar. You need a job to survive. 

“A job?” Mammon repeats, tilting his head, his blue eyes wide in bemusement. It takes everything you have not to sigh like some love-struck teenager.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Beel states, looking at you with his brow wrinkled in worry.

You turn to him, confused and a little disappointed. Having a job not only serves to give you space, but also cash. Let’s face it, you’re broke and you haven’t been unemployed in years. It was nice for a time, but now that you’re aware of your situation, the need to work and earn your way is niggling at the back of your mind. 

Frankly, you can hear your mother in the recesses of your brain criticizing your laziness.

“What’s wrong with working?” You ask.

Beel looks at Mammon, then slowly pulls his gaze back to you. “It would be dangerous.” He states it like it should be common knowledge, and you suppose it is, having been warned numerous times of the danger the Devildom poses. Except, the most danger you’ve faced have been at the hands of the ones who'd promised to protect you and you say as much.

“And that’s exactly why it would be more dangerous,” Beel insists, though both he and Mammon look a little sheepish.

Mammon, however, watches you with a thoughtful look. “I don’t know, Beel. It may not be as bad as that, ‘specially if she gets a job with one of us.”

“Wait, that’s not what I meant—”

“I think we should talk to Lucifer first,” Beel says.

“I don’t know, humans need work, they were built for purpose, otherwise they wither and become husks. A job doesn’t sound so bad to me.” 

All three of them turn toward the voice, Simeon sauntering up to them with a jovial smile on his face and twinkling eyes, and Luke following close behind like an obedient lapdog or a smitten baby brother.

“I mean, as long as it’s with one of you, it might do [N] a little good.”

“Wait,” you interrupt. “I—I was actually thinking that I could get a job, you know,  _ away _ from all… of… you…?”

All four non-humans turn otherworldly eyes on you. Simeon with the amusement that so rarely leaves him. Luke, like a creepy man-toddler who doesn’t blink. And lastly, Mammon and Beel who look like you just told them you wanted to be an angel for Halloween.

“Why don’t ya wanna work with me— _ us _ ?” Mammon asks, though it’s more a whine. Cute.

You nibble at your bottom lip and look away, unsure if they would understand. 

“It’s just,” you start, trying to be tactful and settling on honesty. “I spend all my time with you guys and I figured this would give us a break.”

“Do I need a break from you?” Beel asks, confusion written all over his face. You snort. These guys make it so difficult to hate them.

“Well… maaybe not you, Beel, but—um—I need space.”

“Oh.”

Okay, Beel’s pout isn’t fair. Mammon looks like he wants to say something, but he doesn’t get a chance as Simeon interrupts again.

“On another note, I have a request.”

Mammon gives you a look that says ‘this conversation isn’t over’ and turns his attention to the angels, his eyes narrowing in suspicion. You sigh, wondering what bitching you’re gonna get later.

“What’s up, Simeon,” you say, attention now on the grinning celestial. Luke continues to stare, unblinking. Like he’s trying to tell you something with his thoughts, but it’s only creeping you out, so you ignore him.

Simeon chuckles and absently pats Luke on the head, the smaller angel tearing his eyes away from you to beam up at his partner. 

“I was thinking it may be fun to go camping with everyone.”

Both demons are silent, but you are contemplative. You quite enjoy camping and a deviation of routine sounds exciting, especially in a new realm where nature is so new and unfamiliar. But… you’re also not sure if you can spare the time, not if you're planning on getting a job and trying for a secret prison break.

“Camping sounds fun, I love s’mores,” Beel answers, already licking his lips at the thought of food. You roll your eyes.

“Ew… nature. No thank ya,” Mammon says, his face twisted in disgust.

Just seeing him so opposed to something like this makes you want to tease him. “Aww, is Mammon afwaid of a few spiders?”

Mammon glares at you, raising his nose. “Talk to me when ya’ve had to swat a few spiders the size of a large dog.”

You blanch at that thought. What the hell?!

Simeon chuckles. “They’re only dangerous if you provoke them, and since that isn’t in the plan, I'm not really worried. C’mon, it’ll be fun.”

Beel nods, but his gaze is far away with thoughts of roasted hotdogs or whatever the equivalent is in the demon realm.

You laugh, it’s hard not to be infected by Simeon’s positivity and joy when he’s around. 

“Sure. I’ll go—“

“That’s the spirit,” Simeon says with a wide smile.

“But only if Mammon goes,” you add. “I mean, who’s gonna protect me from the spiders?”

Simeon nearly giggles and turns puppy dog eyes on Mammon who rolls his.

“I wouldn’t worry,” Beel says. “You’ll have me there at least. And Simeon. Satan might go, too, so there’s that.”

“What?! No!” Mammon barks. “It’s my job to protect her, you fucks keep yer distance. I’ll go, but only so ya don’t die.”

You can’t help but giggle and the blush that darkens Mammon’s cheeks as he pretends to be offended only makes it worse.

“Good,” Simeon says. “I’ll shoot Lucifer the details later, he’s already agreed as long as [N] was going.”

That gets your attention and you can’t help but snatch a peek at Luke who is back to staring at you.

“We should get to class,” Beel says as the bell rings to confirm his statement. You rise with the brothers, but before you can leave with everyone else, Luke blocks your path, his cherub-like face raised and eyes intense.

“What?” You almost snap. It’s not that you don’t like Luke, on the contrary, he’s rather adorable. But he’s also older than anyone you’ve ever known and looks like he’s ten. It’s just really fucking weird.

“You can’t trust a demon,” he states matter-of-factly. And yes, you have been down this road with him before, but honestly, what does he expect you to do?

“I know,” you reply.

Luke stares a moment more before turning and running away like he’s been caught stealing.

You sigh and try to go on with your day. And yet, you can’t help but wonder if Luke doesn’t know something you don’t.

🕸🕸🕸

The atmosphere at dinner is markedly more carefree compared to the previous night. Lucifer and Satan are in a heated debate (or at least Satan is heated) over some small thing, Satan obviously playing devil’s advocate—pun not intended—just to get a rise out of his brother. Of course Lucifer doesn’t rise to the bait which just makes the Avatar of Wrath more livid. Asmodeus adds little barbs and quips, gleefully watching the chaos. Beel munches away at everything in arm’s length, including the dishes which is a sight you never get used to. Levi is trying to explain the storyline and how to use the mechanics of a new game he’s playing, and Mammon teases him every so often for being a ‘loser otaku’, sending you playful smiles that make your pulse stutter and hands shake. It’s been a nice evening.

It’s been a good day all around, in fact. Mammon stuck close to you all day without being overbearing, and it felt like you two were actually friends. You know that he’s still emotional after your near death and things will eventually calm down enough for him to grow bored again. The thought hurts but you’re also content to enjoy things as they are in the moment; a reprieve from the constant stress of living in such a dangerous place and the persistent loneliness. 

“Hey, didn’t you want to talk to Lucifer about getting a job?” Beel pipes up, crunching loudly on porcelain. 

The entire table quiets as six pairs of eyes fall on you, and you can’t help but flush in embarrassment.

“Um… I guess?” 

“What’s this about a job?” Lucifer asks you. His expression is mostly impassive with just a hint of curiosity.

“Oh, she’s going to work with me,” Mammon answers for you. There is a spike of irritation in you that follows, you’re perfectly capable of speaking for yourself and you hadn’t actually discussed that option.

“Well,  _ actually _ ,” you say, sending Mammon a look, “I haven’t yet decided  _ where _ . But that’s what I had originally been wondering.”

Everyone looks at Lucifer who taps an absentminded rhythm on the tabletop, head tilted in thought.

“It pains me to say it,” Lucifer begins after a moment and you can already feel your heart sink in disappointment while your irritation rises. “Being on your own in the Devildom is dangerous at worst, irresponsible at best.”

Well, at least he didn’t say an outright  _ no _ . Not that it should matter. And perhaps you’re being obtuse, it really isn’t safe, you just truly need something to  _ do _ .

“That’s why she’s gunna work fir me,” Mammon says, ignoring your glare.

“Now wait a moment, why you?” Levi snaps, glaring a Mammon as well. “She could work with any one of us, you’re not special.”

“Dammit, Levi! That’s no way to talk to me!” Mammon growls.

“He’s right, though,” Satan continues, and the table descends into chaos once again as the brothers argue over who has the right to work with you.

“Enough,” Lucifer commands and everyone falls silent, albeit with pouts. You slump in your seat with a roll of your eyes. This endeavor hasn’t turned out how you hoped, not that things usually do here.

“Levi yer a gamer and do live streams for money, how exactly is [N] supposed to work  _ with _ ya?”

“ _ Mammon _ ,” Lucifer warns, and Mammon shrugs his expression asking for a better alternative. 

“She could work with me at the Royal Library,” Satan offers. It’s a surprise because you didn’t know he even had a job.

“Around all those dangerous spell books?” Asmodeus counters. “And if something were to happen? No, she should work with me at Ma—“

“NO!” You say before he’s even completely finished. Several pairs of eyes fall on you curiously and you slump back into your seat, lips curled in distaste, and avoiding all eye contact while fidgeting with a butter knife.

“Hmm...” Lucifer says, his tone suspicious and you don’t see the look he sends Asmodeus or the partially bared teeth of the lust demon.

“I could take her to work,” Beel offers too and Mammon scoffs.

“Because you don’t get fired every other day for eating all the food.”

You listen, wondering when all the brothers suddenly began working. They rarely ever seemed to leave the house except for school.

“And all Lucifer does is boring ass paperwork for Diavolo. So see? I’m the best option.”

“Where do you work?” You ask.

Mammon squints at you. “Ya forgot already, huh?”

You turn your gaze to him, his cheeks flushed lightly. He looks… embarrassed. 

Mammon faces forward, glaring at nothing in particular. “Ya forced me to work to pay back Levi, duh. I just… kinda kept the job. I bartend at The Fall now.”

Ahhh… you had forgotten all about that, and that he’d mentioned previously where too. So much has happened that you sort of just… spaced it all out.

“That’s the big club here, right?”

Mammon nods, the movement jerky. He side-eyes you, huffing.

“Sounds like it could be fun,” you say. You still want to work, even if it means you have to do it with one of the brothers. At least it’s something. Mammon, though, grins smugly at his brothers.

“If that’s settled then,” Lucifer says, and with the topic opened and officially closed, dinner resumes, the brothers devolving into their usual banter. Mammon, however, can’t seem to stop smiling. 

You sigh in resignation but can’t help that you're grinning a little too.

After dinner you return to your room to finish up a bit of homework and get ready for bed. It’s funny, but you barely take any of these classes seriously. For one, most are way over your head, not having millennia to understand the heavy topics covered. For another, you refuse to kill yourself in order to pass, especially since you’ve already finished school  _ and _ the stuff you learn at the Royal Academy has no value on Earth. What the hell are you gonna do with a survey course on the politics of corruption and temptation? Either way, you read the information just to satisfy your curiosity, if nothing else, and if you're able to answer some of the questions, then yay for you. 

When you’ve finished for the evening, you grab your things and take a quick shower. It’s as you’re sitting on the couch watching some very odd demon drama series and putting on lotion that you get a summons to the kitchen from Mammon. You waffle between ignoring him and going, opting to humor him as he will undoubtedly kick down your door demanding to know why you didn’t come. With a chuckle, you toss on a cardigan over your pjs and make your way to the kitchen.

Mammon is already there, staring into the pantry like something is hiding and he’s determined to find it. He turns as you enter, his eyes going wide as he looks you up and down. It occurs to you that in your thoughtlessness you forgot you’re not quite appropriately dressed. After your bath you’d thrown on a pair of short shorts with soft, cotton knee-highs and a well worn t-shirt that does little to hide the fact you forgot a bra. Frankly, you probably look a bit trampy, but unless you want to run back to your room there isn’t much to do about it. So instead, you wrap your sweater around yourself, crossing your arms, and crossing the kitchen to Mammon’s side. 

(Also, the way Mammon is trying hard not to ogle you makes looking a little slutty practically worth it, sue you.)

Mammon clears his throat. “H—hey.”

“You called, O Great One?” You respond with a small grin.

Mammon stares at you for half a second before snoring in amusement. “Damn straight,” he says and turns back to the pantry. “I was bored and hungry and thought ya might wanna share a late night snack.”

“So thoughtful,” you say, trying hard not to smile too big. No need to make him more smug than the brat already is. “I could eat. What do you have in mind?”

Mammon cocks a hip as he contemplates the available snacks, which from your point of view looks sparse.

“Looks like Beel got to most of the good stuff, as usual,” Mammon gripes. “Let’s see what’s in the fridge.”

You follow Mammon to the refrigerator, and as he opens the door to have a look, you back into the island intending to lift yourself onto it. He looks over his shoulder like he was going to ask you a question and your elbows sort of buckle under his half-lidded gaze because, of course, in your attempt to sit on the counter your sweater has fallen open and the stretch of your shoulders have pulled your shirt taught across your unprotected breasts, nipples on full display. 

Mammon turns toward you, eyes dropping down to your chest and quickly back up to meet your gaze. He pads up to you, socked feet quiet on the tile. 

“Need some help,” he asks, voice fuckably low. The whole atmosphere of the kitchen since your arrival has been stupidly intimate, what with the only sounds being you two and the soft hum of the refrigerator and the low, warm light creating shadowed corners for dirty deeds, and you were  _ trying  _ to ignore the way your skin felt just that much warmer because of it. Now it’s impossible to miss as Mammon’s five foot, ten inch frame looms over you, his familiar earthy scent of cinnamon and chocolate filling your nose and fogging your brain up something bad. Your breath hitches and your hands automatically move to grip his narrow shoulders as he doesn’t even wait for an answer, lithe muscles barely contracting to lift you off the ground like you weigh no more than a loaf of bread, planting you on the counter behind you. You have the irrational and desperate desire to wrap your legs around his waist and pull him to you, to run your hands through his hair and tangle your fingers in the white-blonde strands. Mammon’s hands fall to the counter on either side of your hips as he’s leaning over your closed thighs, and he looks up at you, pupils blown, tongue running along his bottom lip before he pulls it between his teeth. His gaze drops to your lips and an intense need to rub your thighs together to quell the throb between them nearly overwhelms your common sense. You probably should have stayed in your room, but your hormones are glad you didn’t. He meets your gaze once again, leaning precariously closer, so close that you would barely have to lean forward before you’re brushing lips. You're tempted, your heart beating erratically like a bunny amped up on a Monster energy drink, but it’s Mammon that actually douses the foggy haze of lust building between you.

He clears his throat, and with one last longing look at your mouth, he shoves himself back a few steps.

“So, about those snacks,” he says, voice a little rough like gravel, and it does nothing to help the want heating you up from your core and pulsing through your blood.

“Sure,” you answer, trying not to sound so flat and disappointed. “Snacks.”

Mammon doesn’t reply, but turns back to the open refrigerator doors, sticking his head inside and rummaging around. Silence reigns between you until he pops back out with a challenging smirk, holding a pudding cup that says, "Mammon eat it and die” written sloppily on the lid.

“Someone doesn’t want to share,” you say, giggling and still giddy from a few moments earlier.

“Hmm, Beel,” Mammon replies.

“Think that’s a good idea?” You ask.

Mammon shrugs. “He ate everything else, why not?”

You roll your eyes. “Because I’ve learned that you boys become unhinged over the smallest things.”

Mammon rolls his eyes then smirks, wiggling the cup. “Dare ya to eat it.”

“Oh no!” You laugh, waving a hand at him. “I’m not falling for that.”

Mammon pretends to pout, “Aww, why not?” He examines the cup then says, “It’s even… mocha flavored.”

That makes you giggle even more, leaning back on your palms and shaking your head, and Mammon grins back at you. He’s still undeterred, swaggering toward you as he tears open the dessert. You don’t even catch yourself as your legs part automatically and he slots himself between them, waist resting against the counter so close to your crotch you can feel his heat. You clench around nothing but a phantom desire to feel him hard inside you, biting your lip to silent the embarrassing moan building in your chest. Nothing has happened except for some playful teasing, but you’ve been on edge for weeks, both from mental strain and repressed sexual need. However, whatever game this is, you’re not gonna be the one to break first. Right now you’re done pretending you don’t want the demon to bend you over the countertop and rail you into next week, but that doesn’t mean you’ll make it easy. If Mammon wants you, he’s gonna have to use his words.

Mammon slips his middle finger into the slick goo of the pudding, scooping out a hefty portion before sticking his covered finger in your face. “Don’ pussy out on me now,” he teases.

You grip his wrist, intending to shove it out of the way. “I’ve nearly died once already, hotshot, I’m not about to tempt fate a second time.”

Mammon pulls his hand toward himself, dragging you up so you’re now back where you started when he first put you on the counter. 

“D’ya think I’d let it happen again? Don’t worry, Princess, daddy’s here and he’ll protect ya from the big, bad wolf.”

The fire that burns in your stomach roars to life, an inferno of  _ wantsexneed  _ washing over you. Your pussy downright  _ aches _ with the heat of desire so strong you practically want to cry— _ beg _ —Mammon to take you here, now,  _ this fucking instant _ . There’s practically no space between you, your hands the only obstacle as lust practically takes form and you're vaguely surprised Asmodeus doesn’t appear out of thin air. All your senses narrow down to Mammon; his blue, blue eyes, flushed cheeks, pink lips tilted in a titillating grin. He gently thrusts his finger at you in encouragement, the pudding beginning to melt from your combined body heat.

Your grip tightens on his wrist and your own grin turns salacious, your lips parting as you pull his finger into your mouth, your eyes rolling back as you groan pornographically. Mammon’s eyes bug nearly out of his head before dropping half mast, chest expanding as he sucks in a deep breath, exhaling heavily, and eyes blown from want locked on the way his finger disappears between your plush lips. His mouth drops open, a low moan resounding between you when you suck hard on his finger, tongue sliding along the digit. You pull off with a pop, meeting his gaze, dropping your tongue to lick up his wrist and palm, collecting stray drops of melted pudding. Your breath shudders when Mammon’s free hand slides up your thigh, stopping where it meets your hip, grip firm and thumb dipping low and tickling just off the mark of where you want to feel him. He doesn’t break eye contact as he replaces his middle finger with the pointer, delving the digit between your eager lips and thrusting it slowly in and out of your mouth like he’s imagining fucking it. You hum quietly around it, the feel of callouses in your slick tongue, and wrap your other hand around his forearm. He leans closer, the hand on your leg slipping back, fingers sliding along the bare flesh of your ass as it sneaks beneath your shorts and panties. He pulls you closer, pressing you against his front, trapping your hands between you. He gently pulls his finger free of your mouth, slick hand dropping down to your throat, squeezing just so, and you’re soaking your panties you’re so  _ fucking _ wet. The minuscule space between your lips continues to decrease and your panting now, anticipating…

“You’re such a fucking slut,” Mammin growls, his lips brushing against yours, and you're so gone, so lust drunk, all you can do it nod in agreement and whine.

“That better not be my pudding cup, Mammon.”

You both freeze, like someone threw a bucket of ice water at you.

“Shit,” Mammon mumbles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comment and/or kudos, let me know if you were properly fed. Love you all!!
> 
> BIMB :)


	9. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The aftermath in the kitchen and you get a job...with unexpected, expected consequences and new revelations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HA! I managed to put out another chapter within a few months of the last update. I'm on a roll, bitches! Anyway, this chapter is more filler than anything. I'm trying to work out how to get more interaction between you and each of the demon brothers, but I'm not gonna lie, I'm struggling as my brain automatically wants to focus on Mammon since he's my fav. It'll happen eventually, though my story will move slower than the game. Also, I want to take every available opportunity to explore the Devildom. I was going to try and use the Devilgram story of Barbatos' birthday but this happened and I'm not disappointed. I don't have a lot of Devilgram stories unlocked so...If anyone wants to leave suggestions on my twt: @bluelikewords, feel free. I really hope I didn't throw a lot of random information at you in this chapter. Hope you enjoy. :)
> 
> TW: Physical Assault
> 
> **Note: I know they have personal bathrooms and a common one, but I went with them having to share one big bathroom because it's just more fun and leaves room for shenanigans. Am I right?

You sit on the couch in Lucifer’s room clutching a few possessions you managed to grab before you were summoned. Mammon and Beel sit on either side of you, Mammon pouting with arms crossed and Beel glaring off to the side. Lucifer stands before the three of you, arms crossed, dressed again in sweats and a t-shirt, gazing down at all of you like a father looming over his unruly brats. This is your first time in Lucifer's room, and you passively take in the immaculate and formal decoration. It’s not surprising the room looks like something out of Forbe’s magazine.

“So this was all because Mammon ate your pudding, is that right, Beel?” Lucifer says, his tone indicating how done he is with all of you. 

“Hey, to be fair, it was [N] who ate the pudding.”

You scoff, turning to Mammon with the most offended look you could muster. “Excuse me? You practically shoved it down my throat, what was I supposed to do? If I remember correctly, I  _ told _ you not to.”

“Hey, why’re throwing me under the bus?”

“I specifically wrote on it, you know. It said ‘eat it and die’,” Beel reminds him, interrupting your bickering.

Lucifer rolls his eyes. “Enough. So, let’s get this straight, Mammon dumbly ate—“

“[N] ate,” Mammon clarifies, bottom lip sticking out. 

Lucifer sighs, “Mammon, what were you thinking? You know how Beel gets about food.”

Mammon opens his mouth to defend himself, but Beel chimes in and says, “He wasn’t. At least not with his head.”

And wow, you’ve never felt your face heat up so fast and so hot in your life. Seriously, you feel like your skin will melt off out of embarrassment. And it’s not like you’re a stranger to being caught in humiliating situations, but the way Lucifer tilts his head at Beel in question makes you wish the flames of Hell would swallow up right now.

“They were practically fucking on the kitchen island when I walked in,” Beel informs Lucifer.

“Oh my god,” you whine, burying your face in the mix of items you’re holding.

“We were—I was  _ not _ !” Mammon yells, indignant. “I would  _ never _ with this—this  _ worm _ ! Gimme a little credit!”

Your head snaps up, embarrassment replaced with pure anger. It’s not like you shouldn’t have expected Mammon’s reaction, he never likes being called out. But to flat out  _ deny _ what happened between you  _ and  _ insult you on top of that? No. Just.  _ No. _

You open your mouth to confront him, your stomach curling into one big knot, inwardly berating yourself for  _ ever _ giving into your body’s traitorous desires.

“Regardless,” Lucifer interrupts, putting a stop to the inevitable argument about to go down, “we have a whole kitchen wall— _ [N]’s bedroom wall _ —missing because the  _ three _ of you couldn’t contain yourselves.”

You duck your head in shame, noticing the others do too. 

“So, that being established, [N], you will be bunking in Beel’s room for the time being.”

“Yes sir,” you quietly agree.

“Wait, why? Why Beel’s room?” Mammon demands, looking between you and Lucifer. 

“I’m not staying with  _ you!”  _ You tell Mammon, turning away with your nose in the air. 

“Okay you two,” Lucifer says, voice low with warning.

“Ya know what?!” Mammon growls, leaning into your space, face inches from you and red with anger. “Go on! Let all of ‘em have you, for all I care!”

“Will you two shut up!” Lucifer yells, finally reaching his limit, rubbing his brow with his fingertips like he has a migraine.

But you’re not hearing him. Not when your night, which started out so well, devolved into a screaming match with the bane of your existence. Instead of replying to Mammon or Lucifer you abruptly stand. “I’m going to collect my things,” you say quietly, looking directly at Lucifer. He nods, perhaps wisely sensing your mood. “I’ll meet you at your room, Beel,” you finish, nose still in the air as you brush past Mammon still sitting on the couch. 

🕸🕸🕸

Ten minutes later and you’re standing outside Beel’s closed bedroom door. You hadn’t yet been inside any of the brother’s rooms but Levi and Lucifer’s, and you had to admit you were mildly curious. The whole of the manor was very cozy, with its heavy curtains, plants, and plush furniture. But it also held little personality. There were few pictures of the boys themselves, though why you would expect any more than that was a mystery. It’s not like they had a mom to pin hastily colored child’s drawings on the refrigerator or framed portraits of grinning boys with missing teeth. No ribbons for science fairs or trophies for sports competitions. But their rooms were another story, as you’ve experienced with Levi and now Lucifer, both their rooms an expression of their very different personalities.

Levi and his otaku memorabilia.

Lucifer and his perfectionism.

What will Beel’s be like?

The door opens not a second after that thought forms and the large demon steps aside, a light blush on his cheeks. “Come in.”

After all the tension this evening, it’s nice to feel something inside you relax, the muscles in your shoulders loosening as you step past the large demon. Unlike the last two times you got caught in the crosshairs of an angry demon, you never really felt any danger specifically from Beel during the tussle in the kitchen. You hid on the shelf beneath the island, ducking and protecting yourself from flying debris, but none of that had been directed at you. Beel was completely focused on killing Mammon, you were just collateral damage, and for some reason that sits better with you than being the actual target. At least you can forgive Beel his tantrum, unlike say, Mammon. But that’s a thought you’d rather not dwell on. 

_ He doesn’t deserve your thoughts _ . You take a calming breath and shake yourself out of a spiraling mood and focus on the here and now.

“Hey—um, Beel?” You say, turning toward the demon and craning your neck to look him in the eye. The guy is so fucking  _ tall _ . He stares back at you, his expression waffling between dispassionate and discomfort. You’re not sure if the discomfort is because you're assigned to his room for the time being or because he’s hungry. It’s most likely a bit of both. “I just wanted to—um—say I’m sorry for—uh—y—you know.”

Beel smiles at you. Well, it’s more like one corner tucks upward slightly, almost more a grimace than anything, but he’s shrugging his very broad shoulders with cherry stained cheeks. “It’s fine,” he says. “I know it was mostly Mammon, anyway.”

You grin and bite at your bottom lip, your own face heating up with a certain memory. It wasn’t  _ all _ Mammon, of course, but you aren’t going to dispute Beel’s conclusions. Let’s not continue to revisit that embarrassment.

“Well, anyway, thanks for...you know...letting me stay here.”

“Oh yeah. I don’t really have a choice, but, sure. You’re welcome.”

You try to keep the flinch from your expression as a teensy bit of hurt squeezes your insides. You didn’t want to be an inconvenience. You turn around, taking in your surroundings.

“I don’t think it will be horrible having you here, though.”

Your heart skips, looking over your shoulder to see the red-headed demon rubbing at the back of his head, his other hand deep in his pocket, and violet eyes glancing off to the side, the redness in his cheeks spreading across his whole face. Your eyes snag on the strip of skin that peeks out from beneath his t-shirt, his joggers slung low and showing off one side of the ridiculous cut of his hips. You should be ashamed how quickly heat pools between your legs, you were ready to let Mammon split you in half over the kitchen counter not an hour ago, and now here you are drooling over his younger brother’s hips. But hell if your mouth didn’t water, a strong desire to trace your tongue along that ridge of hip bone.

“I promise I’ll be good,” you say, your mouth moving before your brain could properly filter your words. You hadn’t meant for it to sound so scandalous, and your eyes widen when you meet Beel’s gaze, violet eyes full of knowing and a small smirk that practically shouts, “Got you.”

You clear your throat and turn your back on Beel, attempting some sort of composure. God, you must look like a whore, lusting after one brother and then another.

“Where—um—where do you want me?” And how is that any better?! You wince at your own words and hear Beel chuckle behind you, the echo of his deep voice cutting through you like a hot knife through butter, your knees shaking as you will yourself to stay upright.

“You can have my bed, on the left,” he says, and you finally take your first focused look at where you’ll be sleeping. 

Beel’s room is...gorgeous. It has two beds on the opposite wall separated by a nightstand, a couple of easy chairs, and a spiral staircase. It doesn’t look like a room that would fit someone like Beel; he’s got more of the ‘jock’ appeal going for him. The stairs lead to a rather large loft where you can see some workout equipment, which makes sense, but still, the rest of the room...fits him, somehow. 

Also, it’s spotless. You would never have guessed the Avatar of Gluttony would be so  _ clean _ .

“I like your room,” you say. Beel smiles shyly at you. You don’t think you’ll ever get tired of a hulking demon prince being so adorably awkward. “But hey,” you continue, “there is a second bed. I don’t have to take yours—“

“No!”

You shrink back a little at the forcefulness of his tone. You hadn’t meant to overstep any boundaries, but it just seems more logical if there were two beds…

“I’m sorry,” Beel says with a sigh. “That’s my brother’s bed. I just...I just don’t—“

Oh. OH! “Hey, Beel, that’s cool. I can respect that,” you tell him, and it is fine. Beel gives you a relieved smile.

“You can put your things wherever, just—just keep to my side of the room. Please.”

You watch him for a moment, your heart breaking at the sad, longing look he shoots the opposite side of the room. You had forgotten about the seventh demon, no one ever talked about him. However, now that he’d been brought back to mind you were curious, but you remembered Beel’s warning that first night and decide your questions could wait for another day. It  _ was  _ getting late and you didn’t want to push things with Beel and possibly wear out your welcome too quickly.

“Where will you sleep?” You ask, walking over to the large bed and dropping your bags onto the bouncy mattress.

“There’s a couch upstairs. I’ll just crash there.”

You grimace. “Beel, I can sleep on the couch. Don’t let me take your bed.”

“It’s cool, it won’t be the first time. I’d rather you be comfortable.”

That statement is the worst test of your control. No one, it feels, has expressed one ounce of concern for your comfort since arriving, and it makes you want to throw yourself into his arms and smother him in kisses and hugs. It must show on your face too because Beel suddenly looks embarrassed and mildly afraid you’ll do just that. Instead, you simply smile at him, the biggest smile you have in your repertoire, and Beel blushes so hard, staring at the ground.

“Thank you,” you say and he shrugs in silence. You turn back to your things, still grinning like a loony and dig through your bags, pulling out your night clothes and other bathroom items.

“So, where can I brush my teeth?” You ask.

Beel raises his head, an eyebrow lifted before he replies, “Oh yeah, down the hall. The last room.”

You bundle your things in your arms and with one last grin at Beel you leave his room. The whole of the second floor is devoted to the brothers’ bedrooms, three rooms on each side. The stairs that lead to this floor is at one end of the hallway and at the direct opposite is a seventh door which you assume is the bathroom. You head there, opening the door and finding yourself in a vestibule, a small room decorated with a loveseat and a chest of drawers. There is also a small closet on the left and when you look inside it has a variety of cleaning products. Curiosity sated, you enter through the opposite door and halt, your eyes widening. The bathroom is curved and brightly lit and sectioned off into seven stations, one each for the brothers and just as personally decorated as their rooms. A small lounge with a couple couches and a table sit in the center.

There are two other doors leading to two other rooms, for what you will find out, but your eyes land on two of the brothers in the room readying for bed. Satan and Asmodeus stare back at you. Satan has a toothbrush hanging out of his mouth, green toothpaste bubbling around his lips. He’s wearing a matching pajama set with his crest monogrammed on the pocket. He looks so adorable you wanna smack him.

Asmodeus, though, looks to be in the middle of his skin care routine, his face covered in white-gray cream and his head wrapped in one of those microfiber hair towels. He’s wearing a spaghetti-strapped babydoll teddy that shimmers like satin and matching shorts that are almost  _ too  _ short. He’s slender but muscular, his smooth thighs nicely defined, Goddamn him. You try not to care too much about that bastard, but a quick glance at his sink has jealousy roaring within you. He has more beauty products than Kim Kardasian and you have to remind yourself how much you hate the guy so you don’t run up to him and beg to shuffle through it all. Maybe sample some of it. 

“Um…[N]...” Satan starts before turning to quickly empty his mouth of toothpaste. “”What are you—um—doing in here?”

You reluctantly drag your gaze from the goldmine of beauty products and inform him, “Beel destroyed one of the walls to my room.”

There is a pause and two sets of widened eyes before the brothers turn to each other and simultaneously say, “Mammon.”

You snort.

“Well, this is an interesting development,” Asmodeus replies, resuming his routine. It makes you cringe to have his amused reflection grin at you. 

Satan rolls his eyes. “I take it you’re staying in Beel’s room then.”

You nod, clutching at your bath things tighter. 

“Why him?” Asmodeus asks, patting his face dry after rinsing it off.

“Two beds,” Satan answers, eyes firmly locked on you. “You’ll find the toilets on the left,” he nods in the direction of one of the other doors in the room, “and the bath on the right.”

“Okay,” you reply with a small smile. “Thank you.” After another pause, the boys watching you closely, you clear your throat and head toward the bath. 

“You can use my sink,” Asmodeus purrs as you pass him, and it causes a hitch in your step. “You can also use whatever products you want.”

That does make you pause, looking first at him, then at all the expensive looking products he has crammed onto his counter.

“There’s much more in the drawers and cabinet.”

You know you’re staring at it all, but can you really be blamed? Next to shoes and coffee mugs, beauty products are an addiction for you. And you’ve been running low on a few items.

You turn your eyes back to Asmodeus who’s smiling sweetly at you and you know,  _ you just know _ , he’s up to something. You narrow your eyes. “What do you want?” 

Asmodeus gasps like your suspicion is unfounded. Satan watches the two of you, arms crossed and a hip leaning against his counter, mildly amused by the interaction. “I’m hurt, [N], that you would think so lowly of me. I just want you to feel at home.”

Your eyes narrow further as you seek for any untruth in his statement. He’s so good at playing sweet and innocent and it’s difficult to tell if he’s lying. But you can’t find anything and maybe he’s extending the white flag, offering a truce. It won’t make you trust him any more, but at least it would be one less thing for you to stress over.

Biting your lip nervously you say, “Thank you.” 

Asmodeus smiles at you warmly and you turn to head into the bath once again, imagining all the fun you’ll have after when you’re sorting through all his goodies.

“Hey [N]?” Asmodeus calls. You have just opened the door to the bath when you stop to look over your shoulder.

“Just one teeny tiny condition,” he continues, his thumb and pointer finger indicating how small his request is. You should have known, and you don’t say anything as you stare impatiently back at him. 

“You’re gonna have to take a bath with me if you use my things.”

You glare at him, heat rising to your cheeks because you can’t believe you let him get away with this again. “Fuck you, creep.”

Asmodeus smiles at you, it’s beautiful and his teeth are gleaming. “That’s the plan. I do like sex in the bath and there’s plenty room. I bet you feel good, your skin slick with soapy water, your wet cunt gripping my cock as we make a mess of the tile...”

“Asmo, stop. Don’t be crude,” Satan interrupts, his tone flat and bored.

You’re hot behind your eyes as Asmodeus giggles, your breath short and heavy as you try to quell the anger squeezing your chest. 

“But it would be fun.  _ You  _ know it would,” Asmodeus replies with a smirk, his words obviously meant for his brother while peach colored eyes lock on you and roll over your body suggestively. There is a whole bunch of weirdness to unpack in Asmodeus’ statement that you don’t want to think about and definitely don’t care enough to ask. Especially when he’s looking at you that way and making your skin crawl.

“ _ She _ doesn’t look so interested,” Satan defends you and you’re so grateful. Why haven’t you talked to him more often?

“I’m not,” you confirm, glaring at Asmodeus, your lips curled in disgust. “I think I’ll pass, Asmodeus.

The demon of lust sighs like he’s so very disappointed. “Too bad. If you change your mind, though. Especially cause it looks like you could use some of my products.” Your eyes widen as Asmodeus gestures at his own face. “You look tired and you're breaking out. No one wants to look at a face like that.”

“Asmodeus,” Satan admonishes, but the bastard only shrugs and gathers a few items, then heads for the exit. “Just being honest,” Asmodeus says and leaves.

“Try not to let him get to you, looks aren’t everything.”

You give Satan a flat look and turn your back on him.

“He’s not right, though, you are still very pretty,” he says as the door closes behind you. His comment makes you smile as you ready your bath.

🕸🕸🕸

Sharing a room with Beel is torture. Not because he’s a bad roommate, he’s actually pretty cool; he’s mostly quiet and keeps to himself. What’s torture, though, is that he works out daily and he’s taking to having you record his routines. Which means you get the glorious pleasure of gawking at him—sweaty and shirtless, panting hard, rippling muscles stretching and contracting—and all under the guise of filming him. 

It’s fucking horrible, staying with him means you have had no time to yourself for any  _ relief _ , even in the shower— _ especially _ in the shower. Too many opportunities to be caught. It is what it is, though, and you manage. At least one benefit of sharing a room has resulted in you getting to know Beel, although you’re no closer to discovering a weakness to make a pact. 

Beel, you also find out, is very talkative once he’s comfortable with you. He’s a better listener for sure, but he’s by no means shy and he’s straightforward to the point of blunt, which has never bothered you. He’s so genuine, anyway, and it’s incredibly endearing. Living with him has only nurtured the small crush that burns within you to burst into a campfire that continues to grow.

But that’s a problem for later. Currently you’re finishing getting ready for your first day at work. Or first night, that is. Despite the tension between you, Mammon made good on his word and got you a part-time job at _ The Fall _ . He brought you a uniform, though looking at yourself in the mirror, the term barely qualifies. The bottoms are black shorts that  _ just _ cover your ass and might as well be painted on. Oddly, they’re actually quite comfortable, the material is breathable and feels like a second skin. The button down is a long-sleeved, white crop top with a bow tie. It fits snug as well and just as comfortable. The material of both the shorts and shirt feel like cotton but isn’t. It’s softer, like someone spun a cloth from a cloud, and you’re thinking of hunting down a bolt to take home with you and sell because it would make you rich as sin. Anyway, the outfit is finished with a pair of stiletto, lace-up heels that are comfortable in a way that should be scientifically impossible for heels. Seriously, if you ferreted away items from Hell to sell on Earth, you would have more money than Bill Gates or Trump. 

Either way, it’s not the worst outfit you’ve ever worn as far as modesty is concerned. It’s just that you look like a fucking  _ snack _ , with your hair and makeup done and a bit of jewlery to top it all off. And that’s the problem, the snack part. You’re really starting to doubt the rationality of going in public dressed as dinner for a bunch of soul-snatching demons. However, you want this job and this is the uniform, so it isn’t like you have much choice. Luckily— _ hopefully _ —Mammon will be looking out for your safety. You two still haven’t spoken since that night in the kitchen. You aren’t as angry per se, but you also aren’t ready to let him off the hook. He hurt you and regardless of his demon status, you aren’t willing to just bend over and be used and thrown away. 

You shake off these thoughts, giving yourself one last look over, then grab your purse, making sure you have everything you need. You rush out of the door and into the hall outside the bedroom and bump into Levi, palms on his chest. You look up with a sheepish smile. “Oh! Sorry!” You say as you back away. Levi stares at you, his orange eyes rolling over you from head to toe and back to your face. His face flushes ruby colored, while his mouth works, opening and closing without any words. You shake your head, already running late. “Gonna be late for my first day,” you say with a roll of your eyes before brushing past him. “See you later, Levi!”

You make your way down stairs to the common room where Mammon told you to meet him, finding him there with Lucifer and Satan. Mammon’s dressed in a distressed and fitted pair of black slacks, a black button down with sleeves rolled up, and a white and red striped tie. You could melt just staring at him and you hate him for always looking so damn fuckable; it makes it so hard to stay pissed at him. Especially when he turns to you, eyes going wide, then half mast, and his tongue swiping at his bottom lip as he checks you out like he’d eat you right there if he could. 

Fuck your libido. 

“Um...is it alright?” You ask, feeling shy as you spin slowly. Are you fishing for compliments? Maybe. Who wouldn’t when three powerful demons were looking at you like  _ that _ .

“Wow...um,” Satan begins before dragging his eyes away to glance at Lucifer. They don’t leave you for long, though, snapping right back on you like iron to a magnate. Specifically your thighs, and you can’t stop the blush of pride. “Lucifer, you sure this is a good idea?” Satan finishes, still staring openly at you. 

You tilt your head, unsure what Satan means.

“Oh, come off it, Satan. She’ll be fine,” Mammon answers before Lucifer can.

“Yes, well,” Lucifer starts, standing from his seat in a wing-backed chair. He clears his throat, trying to subtlety tug at his collar before brushing away imaginary wrinkles in his suit jacket and unbuttoning it. “It’s too late to stop her now.”

You wished they’d stop talking about you like you weren’t right there in front of them. 

“Besides, Mammon has promised to take good care of our [N]. Isn’t that right, Mammon?” The way Lucifer says it sounds like a threat. You want to roll your eyes, ignoring the fact you were having the same thoughts not five minutes ago.

“Yeah, yeah,” Mammon sasses and he doesn’t bother hiding his own eye roll. “M’not gonna let anything happen to her. Stop mother-henning her, for Christ’s sake.”

Lucifer sends Mammon an unimpressed glare, but Mammon is already grabbing at your arm and leading you toward the front door. “See you losers later,” he calls over his shoulder to his brothers.

“Don’t worry, I’ll be fine,” You add as you're dragged away ungracefully. If Mammon didn’t let up, you were gonna trip in these heels and break an ankle. “Mammon, let go! I can walk on my own.”

He does as he pulls you through the front door and onto the porch. He drops your arm like he’s been burned, suddenly avoiding your gaze. Looks like he hasn’t forgotten the argument either. 

🕸🕸🕸

The Fall is unlike any club you’ve ever been to on Earth. It’s a huge, multi-storied building that looks like a fifteenth century gothic church on the outside, complete with demonic gargoyles, but is so swanky on the inside it feels almost illegal for anyone not filthy rich to be let through the doors. Yet, it’s definitely the hottest spot to be on a weekend night with music that hits like any other club, but the whole aesthetic still manages to maintain a laid-back atmosphere. Your eyes have been bugging out of your head since you arrived and that was two hours ago, and you’ve been kept busy learning the ropes from the owner’s most trusted manager, a pretty incubus named Unamed. Trusted because you’re in no danger of being eaten by him, unlike some of the others despite Bacchus’ protection, which is not a workplace risk you would ever have thought was necessary. You’re also more or less safe from hungry patrons and you make sure to stay within Unamed’s line of sight. 

You had no idea what to expect when Mammon told you he got you a job at the club, especially since you never interviewed for it. You were introduced to staff, most of them sneering in disgust, before you were led around the building and instructed on your duties. However, it was meeting the owner, the legendary Dionysus (or Bacchus as he prefers), that has been the most exciting part of your night. You won’t ever claim to know much about Greek mythology, but you sure weren’t expecting an eight foot, ridiculously attractive satyr that looked like he was busting out of the suit he wore. Out of everyone you’ve met in the Devildom, with the exception of Diavolo, Bacchus is the nicest. He is incredibly friendly and flirty without being creepy, and he loves the fact you're human. He talked in length about his time spent on Earth, partying it up before Asmodeus, who also happens to be his creator, got super jealous of his popularity. He stated he retreated back to Hell to save his own skin and has been too busy to return since. 

Overall, your first night at work has been promising for future shifts. 

The only issue you have with the whole night has little to do with your new job and everything to do with a certain, platinum blonde demon. You haven’t spoken to Mammon all night, mostly because the night has been ridiculously busy, but also because every time you’re at the bar for drinks or food, you’re tended to by the other bartender working with him. It feels like he’s avoiding you. 

On the ride over (and BTW, you had no idea any of the brothers owned vehicles, which they do, and Mammon happens to drive a stupidly expensive model with an interior out of a sci-fi magazine) the tension between you had been awkward and the conversation stilted, never leading out of small-talk. It had been so cringe and you were so grateful when you finally arrived, and although you were just as eager as Mammon to part ways once there, the whole issue between you has been bubbling in thoughts you’ve refused to look too closely at. 

However, in the moments when you’ve stopped long enough to catch your breath, you catch yourself watching Mammon as he works; the way he gracefully pours drinks for customers with a flourish, the way he smirks or smiles charmingly at people as they wait on their orders. The way female patrons, male patrons, and patrons whose sex isn’t as obvious bat their stupid eyes at him and slip him extra cash across the bar like their propositioning him…

Needless to say, it’s been frustrating. Especially when he  _ won’t  _ look at  _ you  _ and you just  _ know _ he knows you’re staring. And you’re still very angry with him, but dammit, you don’t want him giving anyone else attention either, and he looks so delectable, with his sleeves rolled up and a towel thrown over his shoulder…

You sigh, attempting to get your head back in the game and away from infuriating thoughts. Pulling your gaze away from Mammon you make your way through the crowd toward a table that Unamed is pointing at, and he keeps an eye out as you approach to take their order, ready to intervene if necessary. It goes as smoothly as expected, most of the demons seem to enjoy ordering you around, occasionally sending you back to the counter multiple times with unrealistic expectations just to watch you fail. You take pleasure in the frustrated glares as you smile anyway and kowtow to their wants. It’s not like you haven’t worked in restaurants before or dealt with bitchy ass customers. The only difference is instead of one  _ Karen _ you’re dealing with a room full, with superpowers to boot, but your stubbornness won’t give them the satisfaction of knowing how much they piss you off. 

There is one demon among this particular group that gives you the willies, however. More than anyone has this evening. He’s tall and slender with large, curled horns protruding from his shaggy head, and he stares at you with black eyes that make your skin crawl. You make sure to keep your interactions with him short and as professional as possible. You take their orders and exit back through the crowd back to the bar. You glance at Unamed who nods at you and turns his attention to another worker with more immediate needs. 

You’re leaning on the bar, waiting for the bartender to deign to acknowledge you when you feel this  _ presence _ behind you like liquid nitrogen poured down your spine. You stiffen and try to ignore them, sweat beading at your temples from the stress, praying that they go away, but they don’t seem content to loom over you. The next thing you know there are large, slender hands against the bar on either side of you and warm breath, putrid and full of hatred so deep even the earth has lost memory of it, ghosts along your cheek as they lean in and growl into your ear, “How much do you think you’re truly worth to Mammon? If you screamed, would he come to your aid? How quickly? How long do you think I have to defile your body beyond value before the Avatar of Greed finds us?”

The club melts away, a pulse of noise like a dying heartbeat thrumming in the background as visions swim in your mind’s eye of the deplorable things this demon intends, visions not of your making. Your body quakes involuntarily, fear unlike you’ve felt since arriving in this damned land flooding your veins, freezing you where you stand.  _ Where is Unamed?!  _ Your brain screams even as your tongue sits numb in your mouth. You can’t move, you can’t shout, you can’t do anything to even alert Mammon at the other end of the bar, though you will him to see you.

But he doesn’t, the beat remains steady, the patrons dance and drink, and Mammon continues to serve his customers with his fucking charming smile while your pressed into the bar by an unknown demon who’s every intent is your untimely death for reasons he has yet to divulge. 

“Do you think he’ll care if you’re no longer of worth? The Demon Lord of Greed.” He shoves against you until not a spec of distance exists, writhing against your back like a snake or a cat, like he wants to crawl inside you. “Look at him,” he chuckles into your ear, his hand sliding up your front and long fingers wrapping around your throat, squeezing until your ears begin to ring. You wonder why nobody pays attention, why they don’t help, until you remember you’re just a lowly fucking human and they don’t give a damn.

“Look. At. Him. I could feast on your soul right here and he would not even notice. That’s how little you mean to him.” He punctuates his statement with a swipe of his slimy tongue up the side of your neck. You whimper, eyes closing and tears running down your cheeks, wishing you would have heeded Lucifer. He did warn you of the dangers and you wouldn’t listen. You will die here, a victim of our own pride as much as some asshole’s dinner. 

The demon doesn’t stop licking you like you’re some sort of human popsicle. He leans back, taking you with him and your hands fly to your throat to fight against him futilely as you're lifted off the ground by your neck, and he laughs, the thrum of it reverberating through your entire being.

“I really don’t like it when my things get broken.”

You barely hear the words past the rushing of blood in your ears, struggling to breath and griping at the demon’s wrist. Your body swings like a pendulum as the demon whirls around to face Mammon not six feet away. When had he left the bar?

Your attacker pins you to his chest, his grip on your throat not letting up, but not tightening either. He growls, but not like before. No this is animalistic, a challenge from one powerful entity to another. Demons all around begin to take notice and the general murmur of the crowd is sucked out of the room until all that’s left is the too loud music.

Mammon rolls his eyes. “Release the girl.”

“Why? Why should you get to gorge yourself on something so—” he licks at the side of your face and your stomach rolls, “—sweet?”

A shadow passes over Mammon’s face, a darkness in his eyes you have never seen. “Let the girl go, Brul.”

“You owe me, Mammon—“

“I don’t owe ya shit. Let her go or on my name As Mammon, Second Born of the Lords of Hell and the Avatar of Greed, I will eviscerate you.”

The demon— _ Brul _ —hesitates, his desire for vengeance or reparations or whatever warring with his common sense. It seems it’s all the excuse Mammon needs to flex his authority.

All around the club demons begin reacting, hissing in spitefulness and rage or cowering in absolute fear, squealing and wailing and pleading for mercy. They writhe and slither and slink away from ground zero, melting into the shadows like ice does in a glass of hot water.

It took several incidents for you to figure out that the brothers’ transformations cause a drop in temperature in the immediate area, which is what you think is going to happen here, but doesn’t. It’s different...new... _ much worse _ .

It’s like vanta black taking shape as Mammon, though nothing changes visually. It’s a... _ feeling _ ...the sensation that his entire being is a void that’s at once empty of all things—no light, just infinite black—and yet overflowing with a malignancy that makes your definition of evil seem like child’s play. It’s preeminent and ancient and feels like if it touches you, you will burn away to cinders, your frail humanity shriveling to dust beneath its magnificence.

While you’ve seen a few of the brothers take demon form, you haven’t seen Mammon, yet this doesn’t feel the  _ same _ . Like, maybe their power goes deeper— _ beyond _ —what they show you, or anyone, for that matter. And knowing them,  _ living _ with them, you somehow forgot or didn’t understand what they were. You had no idea, and you don’t know whether you should run for your life or fall to your knees and beg his favor.

Brul, however, decides he’d rather have mercy. He drops you and you go to knees whether you want to or not, gasping for air with your hand around your throat, rubbing at the skin that you know will bruise.

Mammon strides up to you as if you weren’t nearly suffocated, confident and unhurried. When he gets to you, he helps you to your feet, eyes zeroing in on your neck. Whatever that was a moment ago, the alpha display of power, has disappeared. It’s just Mammon, though your legs still shake with fear. 

You gaze up at him with wide eyes and he looks back at you, kinder and amused. You swallow and turn to look at the demon that assaulted you who has gone to his knees as you were a moment before, except his is in supplication, an obvious display of submittance, albeit with resentment.

“You should really go now, Brul,” Mammon orders, and you turn your attention back to him to find his eyes have never left your face. He looks...guilty. Why? He’s saved your life.

“I should probably take ya home,” Mammon says to you as Brul flees like a kicked dog. You nod and Mammon finally tears his eyes from you to look around the bar. It’s still very quiet until Bacchus slips from the shadows, clapping his massive hands.

“Alright!” He shouts above the music, a wide smile on his face but not in his eyes. “That was entertaining, yeah? C’mon people, no need to stop the party.”

Realizing the danger has passed, demons begin to slink out of the shadows and within minutes the relaxed atmosphere has returned like Mammon didn’t nearly level the entire place.

🕸🕸🕸

Mammon has an arm around your waist like you’d drop to the ground like a sack of potatoes if he lets you go. You’re in the parking garage across the street, making your way to his car, the tension between you full of unsaid things and you can’t tell if it’s because of your recent fight or the situation that happened at work. Either way it digs beneath your skin until you can’t take the silence between you. Just yards from the car you elbow yourself out of Mammon’s hold, putting a few feet between you as you try to process more than what you feel your brain and emotions can handle, like someone trying repeatedly to stuff too much data into a computer with too little memory.

Mammon, to his credit, doesn't say anything, no barbs or sarcasm. He just stands there, hands in his pockets, watching you with the  _ most _ patience he’s ever displayed. You have your arms crossed tightly over your chest, holding yourself together because it feels like you're going to break apart under all the pressure. Your eyes are closed and your head tilted toward the concrete ceiling as you work overtime to organize your thoughts. It’s not happening, your body is still reacting to OP Mammon. You clear your throat and your voice cracks when you speak.

“What...what was that?”

Mammon remains silent and you open your eyes to look at him. 

“Are ya afraid of me?” He asks instead of answering you. His expression is carefully blank and you wish you knew what he was thinking.

You take a moment to consider his words and decide to be honest. “I’m always afraid.” You don’t explicitly state  _ of him _ in particular, but he’s included regardless.

Mammon stares at you, quiet and contemplating, then he sighs. “I won’ hurt ya.”

You’re stunned. You’ve been in Hell for a month, and in that month Mammon has never been upfront. About anything. Especially concerning you. What do you say? His words make your pulse skyrocket, your heartbeat racing in your chest and pounding in your ears. Is...is this a confession?

“I—I don’t understand…?”

“I can’t hurt ya, not with the pact in place,” he replies, eyes darting to the side. He pauses, face pinched like it physically hurts him to say this much. He sniffs and continues, “but I wouldn’ hurt ya either. Not...not anymore.”

He doesn’t clarify what  _ anymore  _ means, nor does he explain fucking  _ why _ ? He leaves you with more questions that you’re too afraid to seek answers for. You already have so much on your plate that you decide to unpack all  _ that _ at a later time. Maybe. Instead you ask again, “Mammon, what was that? Back there in the club.”

Mammon stares at you, something like hurt shadowing his features before he quickly covers it up, choosing to let the unsaid things pass for the time being. He narrows his eyes at you, then rolls them like you’re the biggest idiot. That’s the Mammon you know. This Mammon you can handle right now.

“I told ya I’m powerful, it’s not m’ fault ya didn’ believe me.” He drops his gaze to the ground, scuffing the toes of his shoe against the concrete with a slight pout.

A breathless laugh is punched out of you, bewildered by the biggest understatement of all time. “That’s not...you...power is what you refer to when talking about horsepower in a luxury sports vehicle or the influence someone has to reform society. What you... _ did _ in there? That’s...that’s…” you can’t even begin to express your thoughts here. “Why do you choose to stay like this,” you say, waving a hand at him, “instead of being what...what you are at all times?”

Mammon watches you fumble through your speech, the corner of his lips curled slightly. He shakes his head. “You humans are so ignorant,” he says with a low chuckle. “A little taste of true power and ya lose yer shit.”

You balk at him. “Well excuse me Mr. All Powerful Demon Sir, it’s not like I’ve lived with many opportunities to experience greatness like you.”

Mammon actually laughs then, rolling his eyes again. “Look,” he says, “the last time I took my true form we were expelled from the Celestial Realm and a third of Heaven went with us.” His expression turns extremely serious, blue eyes darkening to a deep sapphire, like he can’t express the importance of what he’s explaining. He continues, “It was war, [N], and it rocked existence to its very core. The next time I take that form it will be the end of all things, which is the reason for the exchange program in the first place. It’s what Diavolo’s tryin’ to avoid.” He pauses, biting at his bottom lip, eyes darting away in shame. “Which is also why...why I said what I said to Lucifer.” He glances at you briefly, his cheeks going pink, and  _ oh _ . The fight...and now you kind of feel like a child, but Mammon doesn’t let you stew in your thoughts as he continues again, “We were ordered to...keep our distance on the off chance ya get hurt and we put the program at risk. I wasn’t expectin’…”

Mammon cuts himself off with a shake of his head. “We should go.”

Wait a damn second. “What? You weren’t expecting what?” You press, your heart racing once again, fear and anticipation warring with hope and desire...

Mammon smiles at you but it doesn’t reach his eyes, shaking his head. “...Nevermind. We should really leave now, I have to report this to Lucifer.”

He doesn’t say anything else as he turns and walks away, leaving you with so many unanswered questions, one in particular.

_ Is Mammon feeling the same way you are? _

🕸🕸🕸

Lucifer sits back in his chair, one leg resting on his knee at the ankle, a glass of something no doubt potent in one hand resting in his lap as the other drums fingers against the armrest.

“If you would learn to temper your nature this wouldn’t have been an issue,” he chides.

Mammon leans against the fireplace in his brother’s bedroom, his head a thousand miles away. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t been keeping an eyes on you at work all night. He hadn’t let you see, but his eyes followed you everywhere, hyper vigilant because he understood the dangers of letting you lose in the demon realm. And, well, because you looked so fuckable in your uniform. It was so damn distracting. Still, he also hadn’t been expect Brul, of all demons, to make a move so bold.

He almost misses Lucifer’s accusation and rolls his eyes when it processes. “ My nature is what it is and Brul should have known his fuckin’ place.”

Lucifer sighs and takes a sip of his drink and says, “Regardless...you know what needs to be done?”

Mammon smirks at him, “Yeah sure.”

Lucifer nods. “Take Beel with you.” 

“I can finish it myself.”

Lucifer glares at him. “Just do it. Oh, and make an example of it. We need to curb any resistance to Diavolo. You know what this means.”

Mammon chuckles but there is no humor in his glee. Only a dark hunger. He cracks his knuckles and turns to leave, saying over his shoulder, “I got it big brother, don’t worry. I’m gonna enjoy this.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and kudos welcome.

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos are the breath of life.  
> Comments are its blood.  
> If you like this, consider leaving one or the other.  
> Remember, though, comments are VERY motivational.


End file.
